A Centaur in New York
by Jazzcat
Summary: A centaur travels beyond the borders of Narnia - and into New York, where she discovers the world of the X-Men. Narnia/X-Men/Star Wars/Man in the Iron Mask and more.
1. Burying Zephina Wildfire

My name isn't really Violar. That was my mother's name.

I still remember the days when I was simply Zephina Wildfire. The memories are but faded autumn leaves now; shadows of a time long ago. If I close my eyes, I can still see the sheltered glade I shared with my parents, Eolas and Violar Windsong.

We were outcasts. Most centaurs - the respectable ones, that is - live at the Council Ring, a great circle of stone protected by a hedge of blackberry bushes buried in the heart of a dense forest on the western side of Narnia. The vast majority of Narnian centaurs live and die there. There is a security the herd provides that all centaurs crave, even as we love our independence. But my parents had strong convictions: The Council had become too proud, and the reverence with which other Narnian creatures treated us tended to go to the centaurs' heads. Instead of going along with the institution and pretending that nothing was wrong, Eolas and Violar Windsong left the Council and chose to live in another secluded part of the forest.

Although centaurs have trouble conceiving, I was born in that glade just one year after my parents became lifemates.

I inherited my mother's silver-gray eyes and dark hair, and I got my cantankerous mischief and my more sensitive, poetic nature from my father. But my bright palomino coat was all my own. It was a deeper gold rather than yellow, and my white tail contrasted sharply with my black hair.

What a wonderful life we led! The three of us were so close. I think my parents wanted more children, and I would have enjoyed a younger brother or sister. But centaurs do not have many foals, which is why there are relatively few of us. And my parents were not as young as they could have been, though my mother had nearly 40 years on my father.

My parents were very deeply in love. My mother was very striking: Although she was nearly 300 years old, her coat was still midnight-black, though her dark hair was streaked with gray. I thought it made her more beautiful; apparently my father thought so, too.

Eolas' chestnut fur tended more towards a brown hue than a reddish one. He was strong, well-built, and slightly taller than my mother. He wore his long brown hair swept back, crowned with ivy, and a thick waterfall of a beard the same color as his fur spilled down his chest. His brown eyes were warm and thoughtful and expressive, and one glance from him - no matter what mood he was in - never failed to touch my heart. He was playful, for a centaur, and I loved the wild tales he made up about kingdoms of animals who couldn't speak. He turned the dumb foxes into lordly dukes and the stately deer into kings and queens, and we would greet them with deep centaurian bows and high words.

"Good day to you, Lord Fox," my father would declare. "What tidings do you bring from the north?"

The fox would stare blankly, blinking as if puzzled, and Eolas would lean close and whisper his response in my fuzzy golden ear.

"He says that unless we bring a gift to his court - a stewed rabbit, perhaps, with a string of sausage links - he will tell us nothing!"

His impressions would have me in fits of giggles.

In the autumn he used to chase his shrieking daughter through the flaming red and yellow trees, making claws with his hands and galloping after me until we collapsed in the golden grass, breathless and laughing like a couple of foals. My father taught me to fight with swords, and I still remember the day I landed my first scratch in his chestnut fur.

"Ow!" he yelped, stumbling backwards with his hand pressed over a gash on his equine shoulder. His hand came away stained red. I stood, horrified at the sight of his blood, but he laughed. "Come on, Zephina. Let's go surprise your mother."

I was so upset that I was nearly crying, and Eolas took pains to ruffle my hair and stem the endless flow of apologies. "Your mother has beaten me up far worse than this," he said to me, and I had to laugh. Violar was an excellent warrior, though the only fighting she had done since she became Eolas' lifemate was in playful spars with my father and a handful of other trusted creatures.

My mother whirled with a gasp when she saw us enter the glade, Eolas stumbling like a wounded soldier and leaning heavily against me with one arm draped around my neck.

"What in all of Narnia?!" She was by our side in an instant, her hands gentle and supportive as she took Eolas from me and lowered him to the ground. "What happened?"

My father was hiding a grin in his thick beard: From my sideways vantage point, I could see it, and it was all I could do to keep a straight face.

"I was attacked," he announced in dire tones.

"What?!" My mother was horrified. She settled in the grass beside him, running her hands carefully over his fur, feeling for broken bones.

"Yes. A terrible opponent," Eolas told my mother gravely while Violar inspected him, finding only the little scratch while searching for a much more serious war wound. "I couldn't stop it, either. There was nothing I could do..."

"In the name of Aslan," my mother exploded, glaring up at him with sharp silver eyes. "What was it?"

Eolas grinned at her flash of temper. "Old age!"

For an instant Violar stared at him in shock, caught between anger and incredulity. Suddenly she caught onto the joke, and the surge of mirth inside of her caused her silvery eyes to sparkle.

"Eolas Windsong," she said in her warning tone, causing me to lose my grip on my giggles, "I'll patch you up and get you back on your hooves, and then I'm coming after you myself!"

That put my father on his feet. "Not if I catch you first!"

Violar squealed and galloped around the glade with Eolas in hot pursuit. They burst out of the glade and took off galloping through the forest, and their laughter faded in the distance. I had the glade all to myself for a little while. I buckled my legs and rolled on my back luxuriously in the soft grass, delighted with life. My mother would tell me later to wash off in the river, but I didn't mind. A good roll was always worth a little dirt.

That night, as we sat around the crackling fire in the darkness after a sizeable centaur supper, Eolas related something to me.

"I told your mother, before you were born, that you would one day give a werewolf a black eye." I blushed; my mother laughed and nodded. Eolas continued, "It follows logically that I should be first."

My mother taught me all she knew about healing. Violar wore wild roses in her hair: The bright pink blooms livened up her otherwise colorless features - her black-furred hide and silver eyes and the white streaks in her dark hair. But wild roses were also an antidote to certain kinds of poison. She showed me how to roast baneberries - which were, eaten raw, very deadly; but when cooked properly, they made a powerful medicine. There were so many kinds of herbs to learn about and the ailments each treated, and I thought it was all marvelous. On our infrequent trips to the eastern side of Narnia, we would stop at the apothecary in Sted Cair, and I was allowed to practice my treatments under the watchful eye of my mother.

I loved taking care of sick creatures, and I cannot tell you how proud and warm I felt when I delivered my first litter of baby rabbits. The tiny, hairless creatures squeaked softly as I held them in my trembling hands: Little lives with a whole world ahead of them to explore. I carefully settled each blind baby on a large pillow by the exhausted but happy mother's side.

"Three boys and two girls, Mirienne," I whispered as the new babies suckled, my voice thick with emotion. "You have your paws full for sure."

Mirienne gave me a tired smile, and her soft paw touched my hand. "Thank you for my family, Zephina."

I was too choked up to answer.

One of the most important cures Violar taught me to make was a cherry cordial. The cordial was originally given to our valiant Queen Lucy Pevensie by Aslan, but the healers of Narnia had experimented diligently until they produced the recipe for the potion. There wasn't any real magic in it, I don't believe: A mixture of herbs works with the body's natural healing processes and accelerates rejuvenation. It can bring a wounded creature back from the brink of death within minutes, but it doesn't alleviate soreness, and it works too slowly with headaches.

One of our family's sources of livelihood, besides selling furs from our hunting endeavors or taking fish to markets in the dwarf village of Madderholt and to the fauns in Bergdale, was my mother's ability to make cherry cordials. The ingredients were scattered far and wide, and Violar always kept a good supply of cordial for our own family and our patients in the glade. But she made plenty more to sell.

"Zephina, find your father and bring some Edelweiss down from Mount Tor," she would say once a week. Thrilled, I would canter out of the glade and track Eolas through the woods. When I caught up with him, we were off on our adventure.

Occasionally I was left out. There were deep and meaningful looks that passed between my mother and father, full of secrets and love. While I snuggled securely between them and gazed sleepily into the mesmerizing fire on star-pricked nights, I often felt that they were speaking in a foreign language - albeit a silent one - that I couldn't understand. After 33 years of marriage, my parents were still learning that language.

It was a language I longed to know, yet I was content to live life where I was: At home in that small emerald glade I shared with my parents. I was fully grown, but I loved my family: They were my herd. I could not find another centaur who spoke the language of my heart. Although I scorned the pride I saw in the young male centaurs, I was - ironically - too proud to choose any of them for a mate.

But I had time. I was a young centaur yet: Only 32 years of age. Centaurs generally live around 600 years, so I could afford to be patient. My mother didn't meet Eolas until she was 263, and it was clear right away that they were meant to spend the rest of their lives together.

Sometimes, you just know. I felt the harmony between them more than I understood it. Often, when I came home from hunting with a buck or a brace of rabbits slung across my back, I would find them dancing in the glade, their faces glowing with an inner light as they looked into each other's eyes. It was too beautiful to interrupt, and I would wander off into the forest again, leaving them alone together.

I knew, without knowing, that I was different - that my song would be different. I was looking for a mate who had the sensitivity of my father, but there were other things I wanted. Violar found Eolas when they were both broken, and they made each other strong. I was born in the midst of that strength, and I wanted a mate who was stronger than I. These things I knew, but the image was blurred: There was so much I didn't know. I only knew that I had to search, and that I would know what I was looking for when I found it.

"Momma, look what I caught." I came trotting into the glade one fine afternoon with a string full of large white perch, already cleaned and ready to fry.

Violar gave a merry laugh. "Right, that takes care of supper, I suppose. Your father is in Lantern Waste, purchasing some much-needed supplies - including sacks of flour. That means-"

"Pies tonight!" I shouted it out gleefully, then laughed. I had been that excited about pies since I was a foal, and my mother thought it was adorable - along with my habit of referring to her as "Momma." So I kept at it.

Violar chuckled. "Exactly. Want to help me pick blackberries?"

Did I ever! I never missed an opportunity to pick berries, because I was entitled to eat half of whatever I picked. Blackberries were a personal favorite of mine.

Moments later, with large sacks slung around our shoulders, my mother and I were picking blackberries only a short distance from the glade. We were talking and laughing about everything under the sun, and we had just worked out the details for an impromptu evening concert with the three of us playing our respective harps when a robin named Swift fluttered frantically into the bushes, out of breath. Puzzled, I tucked one last berry into my sack and held out a hand to the little bird, but he shook his head vigorously.

"Come quick," he gasped. "He's... it's Eolas..."

A chill ran through me. My mother was at my side in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"Injured," panted Swift. "Werewolves..."

I clapped a hand over my mouth in horror, and my mother stifled a scream. "Where is he?"

"Council Ring," finished the exhausted little bird, his wings drooping.

I threw my sack of blackberries to the ground and tore off after my galloping mother. It was all I could do to keep up with her. The Council Ring was a good distance away through dense forest, but we were there within minutes. We burst into the Council Ring and found him on the ground, a mess of blood and mud and torn fur tended by two grave-looking centaurs. Violar and I threw ourselves to the ground beside him, and wordlessly the centaurs made way for us. My mother took his hand, and I pressed his forehead. His whole midsection was bandaged, and blood soaked through anyway. His breathing was deep and labored. I'd never seen my father look so pale.

"Papa?"

His familiar brown eyes rolled, unfocused, then tried to find me. "Zephina?"

Everything inside of me wrenched. I looked up at the dappled gray centaur who had bandaged my father and found his face set like a statue's. I felt like I was pleading with stone as I gazed up at him through a blur of tears. "Please... will he be... alright?"

The noble centaur hesitated, his gray eyes faltering from mine. Ever so slightly, he shook his head.

He might as well have stabbed me in the heart. A guttural cry tore out of me. "No..."

I snarled like an animal in pain and I buried my face in my father's shoulder. I broke down and sobbed, holding his weak, cold hand in mine.

I could feel my mother's agony. She was frantic, begging for something else to give him. Not even the cordial could repair the damage fast enough. I heard her pleading with Eolas, as though to stop a small boat that has passed the point of no return and is rushing with the merciless current, about to crash over a waterfall.

"Don't leave me, please," she begged him, and she was crying as hard as I was. "I love you..."

I heard my father answer in a strained whisper. "I'll never leave you, Violar."

His fingers twitched in mine, and with an effort he touched my hair and called my name. I looked up at him, blinking past my tears to see his face.

"Zephina..." Weak fingertips touched my cheek, and I clutched his hand for dear life. "My sword," he whispered, and everything inside of me cried out in protest. _Not this... Not now. Don't leave me your sword, Father._ "My Lady..."

The last of my composure gave out, and I fell against him. My Lady was the name of his harp, and he was giving it to me. I wasn't looking at him, but his next whispered words were for me, I knew: "Take care... of her..."

Eolas gasped once, then lay still.

The wild, yowling cry of anguish from my mother still haunts my dreams. My memory of what happened after that is fragmented: For a long time, I cried beside my father until strong hands lifted me away. I felt as weak as Eolas' hand had been, and one of the lady centaurs - I don't even know who - half-carried me into the darkness of the stone sanctuary. Pillows were put under my head, and a huge blanket was draped over my body, and I was left alone. Centaurs drifted in the background like ghosts, and I could hear their whispers: "They never should have left the Council Ring... None of this would have happened if..."

I wept brokenly until my pillow was soaked through. For an eternity I was alone; later, I was vaguely aware that my mother had been brought close to me. I felt her arms around me, and I burrowed deep into her embrace, seeking comfort from one who had none to give.

They buried my father that night in the Council Ring by the orange light of the bonfire. The assembly was solemn, and the centaurs stood so still that they looked as if they'd been standing there unmoving for thousands of years. My mother and I stood close together, leaning against each other for support, staring at the still form lying in the dark hole, half-illuminated by flames. My wonderful father was gone, and I was left holding only memories - and his sword.

The ceremony ended without a word. No one but my mother and I shed tears: The other centaurs didn't know him well enough to cry at his departure. Violar and I could not bear to stay while they buried him, and when I looked up, I found sympathy reflected in the blue eyes of one cream-colored lady centaur. She had motioned for the other centaurs to wait, and they heeded her word. At least someone understood.

Violar knelt by Eolas' side and remained there a long time, stroking his hair and his beard and whispering words no one could hear. When she kissed his cold lips, an iron pang shot through me, and I turned aside to brush away fresh tears.

Silently my mother and I departed the Council Ring. I couldn't accept that he was really gone, but when we arrived at the glade, it was like waking from a nightmare - only to find that the nightmare had become reality, and darkness had stolen into every corner of my life. The once beautiful glade was cold and empty as Eolas' grave, like castle ruins. It was no longer home to either of us. Those bright, happy days were over, and we were walled out, and the gate was locked.

What I wouldn't have given for one more day like yesterday... just one more yesterday. Why did it all have to end so soon?

My mother and I never said a word to each other. We couldn't stay there that night, and we both knew it. Gathering what few supplies we needed and what few belongings were too precious to leave behind, we left the glade and wandered southward, aimless and disconsolate.

I carried My Lady on my back, as well as Chickadee - the harp Eolas had carved for me. His sword was buckled around my waist, his bow and mine were slung across my back, but the weight of the memories I carried was enough to crush my soul.

For days my mother and I wandered, not knowing where we were going. We cried more than we ate. When we stopped to rest, our sleep was punctuated by weeping and dark dreams that I can't remember. We spoke little, each swallowed up in our own grief. But we didn't need words: We clung to each other, because my mother and I were all we had left.

Then, one morning, I woke up - or rather I opened my eyes and stared dully at the surrounding forest. I was too deep in mourning to care about life, and the only world I had ever known was shattered. I lay there for a long time, flat on my side, my chin resting in the grass as I gazed ahead at nothing.

When I finally stirred and glanced at the black form of my mother, I noticed that there was something... unnatural about her. I rubbed a hand over the dirt smudges on my face.

"Momma?"

She didn't answer. Wearily I dragged myself to her side and sat there for awhile, waiting for her to wake up.

_Breakfast,_ I thought. _Perhaps I should go hunting._

Hunting reminded me of my father. I had avoided it for as long as possible, but our dried meat had run out two or three days ago. Some latent instinct for survival told me that I needed to start moving on, that I had to begin living life again... and hunting was a tiny step in the right direction.

I had to get started as soon as possible to catch the deer during their early morning feeding time. I looked down at my mother again.

"Momma?" I touched her hair and yanked my hand away with a gasp. My mother was ice cold.

She had died sometime during the night. I fell slowly into the grass and cried for hours. I was an orphan - a 32-year-old orphan, but an orphan nonetheless. There was no one else I could turn to. The centaurs of the Council Ring shunned us because we shunned them.

I had heard that Aslan was a friend to the lost and lonely, but where was he now? For years I had taken for granted that he was there - just as I had taken my family and my comfortable life for granted. Suddenly it was all gone, and when it came time for Aslan to follow through with his promises... where was he?

A spark ignited inside of me: Anger. It caught dry, bitter tinder and swiftly spread until it was pure fury, all-consuming rage. I beat the grass with my fists and snarled, then sat up, my face tear-streaked and dirty and twisted with resentment.

"I hate you, Aslan," I growled. "You did this to me, and now where are you? I hate you! Just... stay out of my life and leave me alone! I can take care of myself. I don't need you!"

Who needed that Lion anyway, when this was what he did to those who followed him? And I had followed him! I didn't consider myself close to him, by any means, but we were outcasts of the Council Ring because we believed it was the right thing to do. What about that? Was this the reward we deserved? Was this the reward _I_ deserved? After all, I was the only one left to punish.

That anger fueled my will to survive: I would show Aslan that I could live without him, that I could take care of myself. I didn't need anyone.

I buried my mother deep in the Great Forest, alone. I am the only one who knows where her grave lies. I placed inside that mound her harp, Vixen, along with My Lady and Chickadee: It seemed right, somehow, to give her our harp family. I never wanted to hear their music play again. I gave her Eolas' bow and quiver, though I kept all the arrows, because I would need them. And I took her sword to keep a part of her with me.

Then I took her name, to keep her alive.

That day, I buried the wrong centaur. Zephina Wildfire had died, and a bitterly angry palomino centaur named Violar - simply Violar - left those dreary woods behind. She wandered further south into the Calormene desert and struggled to survive there for six years before her strong will broke, and she again cried out to Aslan. When he melted out of the darkness, what she found in his golden eyes was not condemnation... but sympathy, understanding, and love.

He let me pour out all my hatred - hatred for him - into those desert sands like blood from a broken heart, and then he gave me the courage to begin tearing away that mask. Ever so gently, he began prying from my grasp the hatred I lived on, and he gave me another reason to live: Love.

Seeing how much it hurt him that I'd lost my parents did something to me. I hadn't been close to him in those early, beautiful days, because I hadn't _needed_ to be. Now I needed him, and I needed to learn to love. Aslan is love, and in order to understand love, I needed to walk a path like his.

Aslan's path had led him to the Stone Table. So he took me there. From that point forward, my journey into love began.


	2. When You Look Through My Eyes

Impersonating another centaur, let alone one who is my mother, is perhaps not the most honorable thing I have ever done. But I cannot live with the name Zephina Wildfire, and my mother died too soon; so I embrace the name Violar Wildrose Windsong wholeheartedly.

The only ones who would know me as Zephina are other centaurs in the Council, but I left them behind long ago. To them, I am no more.

Taking another name is, for the most part, easy. But living another life is not. Everyone knows that Eolas, my father and Violar's husband, died eleven years ago, and for all intents and purposes, Violar disappeared then. But I know the truth: That she died in the wilds she once loved, devoid of all color and meaning after the departure of her beloved. Her tender heart broke. There was nothing I could do for her. I buried her myself and watered her grave with my tears before I departed south, desperate to escape the lingering shadows of my past.

I suppose it may seem odd that eleven years have done little to stem my grief and that I still go on as if I were freshly orphaned. But Eolas and Violar Windsong were my whole world. My parents did not share the views of the Council, always trying to live a humbler life and keep separate from the other prouder centaurs, so I was mostly raised an outsider; but the love between the three of us was great, and I did not feel deprived. We were a tight unit, laughing and playing and sparring together. The other centaurs shunned me as we shunned them, but as long as I had my parents, it was quite alright.

Suddenly, Ettinsmoor took them both from me at a single stroke. I was left alone - utterly and terribly alone.

I am still alone. I am still an outsider. Likely it will always be so.

My mother and my father both carried a secret weight with them - the weight of guilt that they hid themselves away while the rest of Narnia and the Council fought and died for our freedom during the reign of the White Witch. I live now to rectify that one fly in an otherwise perfect ointment: I have dedicated myself to protecting Narnia and its inhabitants from each and every threat to their way of life. The fierce Calormenes inadvertently helped: They sharpened my skills in the deserts between Narnia and Calormen for a hundred moons before I returned to Narnia. Disappearing for years in a land of desert sun and harsh people changed me, both emotionally and in appearance, and I am not easily recognized. But I do have something of my mother in me, and sorrow has made it easy to play the part of a bereaved widow, though I myself have not known love.

Seamlessly I have slipped into the name and face of Violar Wildrose Windsong. But when I stop beside a pool of clear water and catch my reflection in its lieless surface, looking into my own eyes, the mask slips away and I cannot deny that I am, in the deepest part of my soul, Zephina Wildfire.

I wish I could leave Zephina Wildfire behind as easily as I have shaken my true last name: Windsong. But I can't. Zephina is me. I hate that truth; it's painful beyond description to be her... and yet I cannot help being who and what I am.

I only ask forgiveness of Aslan for the deception I am and the lie I live. Why I do what I do is not something I can ever explain. It is beyond understanding and description to know why I have become a strange outcast untitled knight - a lady-mare centaur, no less. The only way to truly comprehend me and my life is to look through my eyes.

That is a doom I would not wish on anyone. Live joyfully, and be glad you cannot see through my eyes.


	3. A New Name

A young boy with the bearing of a king came wandering into Narnia the other day.

I'm wary of strangers, as well you know. But there were overwhelming depths of kindness and humility in his fathomless blue eyes, mingled with fresh pain and long sufferings, so that I could not bear it when I frightened him. Sometimes I frighten strangers with a word or a glance, or my demeanor (which is intensified by my thousand-pound mass and eight-foot height), and whatever judgment I glean from their reaction tells me much about their character.

It revealed a whole story about Philippe.

I even let him ride on my back. A centaur never carries anyone - it is a tremendous blow to pride and, if the other Council members were to catch me at it, I would never live it down. But I carried Philippe and I'm proud of it.

We rode to the shimmering towers of Cair Paravel on the eastern coast of the mighty sea, and there I took him through the castle (on foot this time; there were too many centaurs around to do otherwise), and we spoke on the parapet overlooking the glimmering ocean. Then I took him down a winding stone staircase and we sat out on beside the crash of the waves, and we talked for a long time.

Philippe had a terrible tale to tell, and he decided to trust me with it. He spent his early years leading a lonely life deep in a forest, visited by a priest and an old woman, and he was taught courtly manners but not allowed to see a soul. Then, without warning, he was dragged off to a prison called the Bastille and forced to wear an iron mask over his face. For six interminable years he languished in the dark, shouting out, "What have I done?" But there were no answers - only silence, only lonely echoes.

His only comfort came from the pale light of the moon, when she flew over his cell and mercifully cast her soft rays upon him, saddened by his plight.

Then he was daringly rescued by unknown benefactors. They turned out to be the King's Musketeers, three of them, all with names entwined in the pages of French legend, and they revealed his true identity - and his crime: He was the twin brother of the cruel, cold-hearted King Louis of France. The Musketeers brought Philippe into freedom for the purpose of a daring plot: To replace the arrogant king - his own brother - and place upon the throne one they deemed more worthy to wear the crown.

Privately I agreed with the Musketeers.

Philippe was telling the truth; there were no lies in his innocent face. Reduced to raw emotion, I pledged my sword to Philippe and promised to accompany him on his way back to France. He accepted my offer and said he would grant me the station of advisor, if his bid for kingship were successful.

Philippe also expressed many doubts about the whole idea: For one, he didn't want to be king. For another, he wasn't anxious to supplant his brother - his own flesh and blood. Philippe is not a boy who holds grudges. These very doubts he harbored about his own aptitude for governing his people led me to the conclusion that he was exactly the right person for the job.

Philippe's honesty prompted my own: I told him my entire tale, leaving nothing out. He thought it was rather sad that I decided to leave behind my own name, Zephina, and chose to hide behind another name and another identity that was not my own. Then he suggested an amazing thing: That I simply change my name to Violar Zephina, a thought that heretofore had not even occurred to me. I accepted it eagerly, and henceforward I will be known as Violar Zephina Wildfire. Zephina has taken the place of my former middle name, Freeheart, but that is as it should be: My name means Freeheart. I am Freeheart. I am Zephina.

Now I am Violar Zephina.

Suddenly a great lion bounded over a boulder and descended the cliffs towards us, interrupting our pleasant tete-a-tete: Aslan himself.

The boy was overwhelmed, especially when it dawned on him who this lion, whose very presence pervaded unmistakable power, was. He fell to the ground at Aslan's paws, but Aslan set one of those paws upon Philippe's shoulder and bid him to rise. Then, I was dismissed with a noble nod, and I walked alone down the beach to where the sunset-colored waves rolled in and out and teased my fetlocks, and I know not what they said, though they spoke long together. Once in a while, I thought I heard the soft chuffing of Aslan's warm laughter.

Such gladness suffused over me - the greatness of the sea, the visitation of Aslan himself, and the easing of sorrow of a boy who was destined to become king; that suddenly I couldn't take any more. The moment a long strip of seaweed entwined itself around my ankle, I exploded with delight, rushing about in the warm sand, kicking up great fountains of spray that went over my head and sprinkled the heavens with crystals all falling around me like shattered rainbow gems, winking like gold and silver; and I laughed and cavorted like a foal until the huge yellow sun sank like an enormous galleon beneath the mighty waves.

Aslan called me back to him then, and it was time to bid Philippe goodbye: His Lady Rose, the Musketeers, and his destiny awaited him in France. He even dared to hug Aslan in the joy of his heart, and he kissed my hand. Then the lion and I stood together and watched him disappear from our dimension into his own.

Aslan turned to me, and we shared a smile. I would follow Philippe soon, but Aslan had need of me in Narnia for one more mission first. I would be arriving in France in such a manner that Philippe himself might not recognize me.

It was rather an exciting thought. I felt very alive that night as Aslan and I walked together across a beach under a twilight sky already scattered with stars.

See you at the party, and may the dance never end.


	4. To Kick a King

The moment he emerged from the trees, I was filled with loathing for King Louis.

He was like Philippe and yet not: He was beautiful on the outside, but his eyes were hard as blue granite, and something about him radiated cruelty. And he was a womanizer - a severe, compulsive womanizer, and he wasn't used to women telling him "no", or anyone else for that matter. It was hard to believe Philippe was his twin brother.

He sauntered up to me as if he owned all of Narnia and about had a heart attack when he realized I was a strange creature to him - a centaur. What he thought I was before, I have no idea. I tried to be gentle with him, but the moment I softened, his arrogance reared its ugly head and he began to command me around as if I were a servant of his. I would not submit, as I am beyond his power, this greatly angered him. I was forced to take drastic measures with him throughout our short time together.

Aslan had brought him here for a reason - what that reason was, at the time, I didn't know. But King Louis was not even worthy to know my name, so I told him to call me "My Lady" and left it at that. I had to get him to Cair Paravel, but I would not carry him myself; that honor is never bestowed on anyone by most centaurs and has been only twice by me. King Louis would not be my third passenger.

I took King Louis to the meadow where the Talking Horses resided, and my old friend Devlin trotted up to us.

"I guess this horse will do," said the king after a cursory glance over his new steed.

Devlin snorted. "I guess this rider will do," he muttered in his turn.

His opinion of his rider dropped even lower in a very short amount of time. Never have I known Devlin to be quite so obtuse, but this king was needling his very equine pride and Devlin had a lot of trouble with being forced to carry him.

As we walked the long road beside the Great River towards the castle of Cair Paravel, I had been aware of a lot of rustling to my left, but I paid it little heed. Then, suddenly, a low growl came from Glasswater forest on my right: It swelled until it was a roar mighty as thunder, and the entire forest shook from its power. The rustling on the other side of the river took immediate flight, and then I understood. But I would not tell King Louis what happened and led our company to a comfortable thicket for a short rest.

Devlin was glad to be rid of his burden. I had no such pleasure. King Louis refused to eat berries plucked from the woodlands and instead badgered me with questions about my name and what that roaring was and who Aslan was (which I was not about to tell him, since the idea of Aslan being a lion might lower Aslan to a level of inferiority in this king's eyes), alternating between cajoling to ordering to flirting, I'm almost certain - with a centaur, no less! - until he had pushed me well beyond my limits. I rounded on him and seized him by his costly lace collar.

I yanked him onto his tiptoes and brought his face within inches of mine. "You listen to me, you ungrateful king, " I seethed, glaring at him. "I just saved your life, and you have repaid me - a centaur, no less - with insults. Now stop asking questions!" With a hard shove, I dropped him onto his rear end in the grass. "You sit there, and be quiet, and eat berries. And stop acting like a spoiled child!"

Devlin shoved his muzzle deep into a patch of clover while a fit of muffled equine wheezing seized him. If Louis had found out that he'd made a horse laugh...

Louis' face turned red as an overripe tomato and he had a temper tantrum, threatening then and there to have me beheaded. I regarded him with indifferent scorn. He did not know his peril, causing a centaur to lose her temper. No one in Narnia dares disrespect a centaur - and though I gave him some leeway, since he was a foreigner and couldn't possibly know that, I would only put up with so much.

Louis settled down for a moment, and I rewarded his change in demeanor by telling him my name and informing him that the Unnamed Roar had saved his life by causing the wolves of Ettinsmoor to flee. This news did not rattle him nearly as much as it rattled me: News of the king's arrival in Narnia must have been delivered via spy, and rather swiftly. They wanted him dead. Aslan obviously wanted him alive. For what purpose?

Inevitably the thin mask of Louis' social graces wore off because I still refused to tell him about Aslan. When he resorted to haughty demands, I grabbed him by the collar again.

"You're naught but a fancy-dressed little boy parading around with far too much power to handle properly." I pushed him back a step or two. "You threaten me one more time, or use that tone with me again, and I'm going to TREAT you like a little boy. It'll be a willow-switch for you, to teach you proper manners, especially for a centaur. And don't you dare draw a weapon on me either, young man. You do not know your peril when you challenge a centaur, but I daresay you'll have the fear of Aslan in you before half a minute has passed."

I couldn't believe I'd just threatened to whip him like an insolent child, but it was no idle threat and he seemed to sense it. Neither was my threat about challenging me. He sensed that too. But he was furious, and he stomped off and, drawing his sword, began to wreak havoc on the forest greenery, hacking away at bushes and small trees in his fury.

I allowed this to go on until he cursed Aslan.

Louis suddenly found a sword blade pressing steady and cold against his throat. "Curse me," I said with deadly quiet. "Curse the Council Ring, curse the entire centaur race, or curse whole land of Narnia. But under no circumstances," I intoned slowly, leveling my stare on him, "will you curse the name of Aslan in my presence. DO I make myself inescapably clear?"

"Inescapably," he gritted out after a minute.

As another reward for improved behavior, I told him about Aslan.

And then doubted the wisdom of my words. Louis immediately surmised that Aslan liked him the way he was, because Aslan saved his life. All attempts at refuting this theory fell on ears deaf with pride. Clear as if it were already happening, I saw the sufferings Louis would have to endure - humiliations and torments that he would find unbearable, especially in his childish frame of mind - before he was fit to release among any populace as a commoner, let alone a king. And with equal certainty, I knew that this chastisement would not be meted out by me. Moved to pity for his impending plight, I released him from swordpoint.

Devlin came up behind the king and gave him a hard shove with his muzzle. "Time to go, your highness."

Louis ignored him and began to press me for an explanation of my sudden off-put behavior, but his inquiries came to an abrupt halt. The next thing I knew, Louis was holding in his hand a bit of parchment. "What is this?" he demanded.

I answered truthfully, "I don't know." Nor did I really care. The things I had seen were far more upsetting than any missive could have been.

The king's anger grew. "This,* he said, throwing it in front of my face, "is a letter from my mother to the caretakers of my brother. Now how in the world did it end up in Narnia I wonder?" He spoke sarcastically, his hands folded behind his back in an attitude of supreme annoyance. I ignored him for the most part, but my fear was growing; I would not look into his eyes and risk revealing that. "Unless," he went on, deliberately torturing me with his conclusions, "someone from France who knew of my brother's existence had it and came here! Now...*Louis whipped out his sword and stuck its point against my heart. "Who was it?!"

Centaurs who follow Aslan are terrible liars. Ignoring his swordpoint, I lifted my chin and told him a half-truth: "I don't know, your highness."

I didn't know who brought the letter to Narnia. I had only a guess, if you wanted to get technical.

The swordtip pricked me as the king, in his fury, pressed closer. "You lie! Now tell me! Who was here?" His brilliant mind began to race, his focus never wavering from me as the mental puzzle clicked into place. "My brother can't be alive. He died... unless... unless they faked his death!" Each word was like a death knell to my spirit. "But how, how did that happen..." My last hope was mercilessly crushed. "It had to be his friends, those Musketeers!"

The knowledge that he'd thought Philippe dead before he came here, to this very glade, stabbed through me like the point of Louis' sword. My own anger mounted and I glared him down. "I'll tell you nothing," I said in a low guttural voice like sand grating over sharp pebbles.

Just then, teeth clamped down on the back of Louis' fine tunic and yanked him backwards; Devlin behaved like an angry dog shaking a rag doll. Quick as lightning, I unsheathed my sword, sliced Louis' blade aside, and then whirling I delivered a double-kick to the king's midsection while Devlin still gripped him in his strong yellow teeth.

Facing him again with the speed of a practiced warrior in full control over my equine limbs, I again glared him down, my sword half-raised. "Next time I won't merely knock your wind out," I warned. "I don't imagine your highness has ever suffered broken ribs on occasions before this, but let me give you some words to disregard in your arrogance: It's mighty painful. Twenty times more painful than what you feel right now. Now I suggest you remember every vital thing I told you about not raising arms against a centaur." The fire in my silver eyes dared him to cross me again with dire consequences.

Devlin let go of the king and he slid to the ground, choking and holding his midsection. Yet even in his obvious misery, his expression was one of triumph, and he smirked evilly at me. "You have already told me what I need to know," he said, blaming me in his cruel way. "Now I just have to find him."

Such a wildfire of anger raged through me as I menaced his cringing form with my own sword that I had to fight the urge to finish the king there and then - if nothing else, than to spare Philippe from his brother and the country of France from its oppressor. But I could not kill someone dishonorably in cold blood - especially not when Aslan had just saved him, and us, from an attack of the wolves only a short while ago.

Aslan wanted Louis alive. And I directed my fury towards Aslan for it.

"There's nothing to tell," I snapped, forcing my tone into a semblance of calm. Suddenly I lifted my sword and rapped him sharply across the back with the flat of it. "Let that be a reminder to you to never do something so stupid again," I told him, eyeing him with all the distaste I felt. "Now get up and get on the horse before I do something you won't live to have a tantrum about."

For once, Louis didn't argue. He left his sword on the ground - I picked it up and I still have it, actually - and climbed onto Devlin's back without protest. But oh, I wished I could do something to wipe that awful smirk from his features!

I started off without a word. Devlin followed close behind. Louis was blessedly silent.

As we walked on, the fire in my veins cooled, and what I had almost done - the full gravity of it - came down on me. And I wasn't sorry. I should have been sorry; to contemplate taking another's life like that is wrong...

Tears were surging to my throat. I was going to have a breakdown right beside the Great River, right in front of Louis; but right then I was saved by the appearance of an enormous lion stepping out of the woods and padding purposefully towards Louis. He cast a glance at me - a sympathetic glance - and dismissed me with a nod. I bowed to him, then raced off, dove behind a thicket of hedge-like bushes, buried my face in my hands, and let silent rivers of tears come gushing out.

Whatever Aslan and Louis said, I don't know. I lay there, shaking and miserable for what seemed like hours, until I felt the heavy, warm weight of a paw settling onto my shoulder. I froze, but the fragrant breath of Aslan fell on me with soothing fragrance, and he whispered things to me that I only half remember, and my anger towards him was both forgiven and forgotten. All the tension left my weary body, and rising up I put my arms around Aslan's neck and sunk my head deep into his glorious fur.

I heard Aslan dismiss my faithful old friend Devlin, and the horse returned to his band. Then we were alone, and Aslan ministered to me for a long time until he had restored me from my ordeal - both from the things Louis said to wound me and the things I nearly did which wounded me just as effectively. When his healing on me was complete, Aslan and I rose up together, and we walked side by side into Narnia in the golden silence of afternoon.

Peace was tempered with the knowledge that we had failed. Aslan had given Louis a chance to redeem himself, to remain the king of France; but Louis had chosen his own path and rejected Aslan. It was a burden we both bore together. Once again, pity settled into my heart for the plight of those who are villains and enemies of good in the world.


	5. Guardian Angel

Centaurs and New York City don't mix.

I found that out too late as I trotted along the strange pathways these folk had built for their own special brand of transportation. Everything they did seemed to involve _noise_, and lots of it. What a huge shock it was after quiet, peaceful, slow-paced Narnia!

I couldn't pry a word out of anyone. Staring at me as if I were some... freak, they passed by, some with mild to extreme hatred, others suspicious, some just plain stunned. Smiling and nodding politely at them wore my nerves thin. Surely there comes a time when decorum isn't necessary anymore?

I bowed my head to yet another stranger, and a moment later I felt a tap on my hindquarters. Whirling, I stared at him. He was staring back: A young blonde fellow in a trenchcoat. I cocked my head at him, wondering if this contact was some kind of accident; but he didn't move.

Then he blinked, seeming to come out of his frozen stupor. "Excuse me... miss? I'm sorry, but I just had to ask: Are you a mutant?"

_A what?!_ my mind repeated. "What's a mutant?" I said aloud.

He was still staring at me, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him. He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Well... I'm a mutant. They call me Angel..."

I barely heard what he said after that. Something was wrong. My gaze was captured by something over his shoulder. Even in noisy, foreign New York City, my warrior instincts were strong as ever. Trying to smooth my worried features into cool politeness, I looked down at Angel. "Two men in black suits have been trailing me for the last three and a half blocks, and they stopped when I did. I'm being followed... and they're watching us right now, Angel." My stomach tightened at my own words: Watching _us_. I was putting this Angel in jeopardy. I shifted hooves in restless agitation, needing to get out of there immediately.

He slowly turned his head until he could see the threat from the corner of his eye, and he wasn't disturbed in the least. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Don't worry, I'm a member of the X-Men."

_The what!?_ Angel remained a constant riddle.

"Uh, you probably don't know what that is," he went on, "but believe me when I say you're in good hands." Inexplicably, I believed him, but I was wishing fervently that he'd leave me alone already so I could deal with my own enemies - something I realized he wasn't going to let me do. Then he went around the corner of the building and slowly removed his trenchcoat and the harness beneath it, like an unveiling; revealing an awe-inspiring, sixteen-foot pair of the most incredible white-feathered wings I'd ever seen.

It was all I could do to keep my jaw shut. A thousand feelings rose in me: Amazement, thrilled delight, and then my good friend jealousy. I wrenched my mind back to the task at hand as he rejoined me, flapping his wings somewhat irritably to get rid of stiffness from being cramped by that awful harness.

"We need to get somewhere... safe." I lowered my voice still further as a staring little boy was tugged firmly down the sidewalk by a disapproving parent. "Would you kindly lead the way?"

He obliged. We set off. Pretending to have my attention caught by a passing storefront, I stole a glance over my shoulder and groaned. "They're still on us."

He nodded and leaned closer, taking firm but gentle charge of the situation. "It probably doesn't help that my white feathers stand out like a beacon at night, but I had no choice; I had to be ready in case they start something. Now, listen: I do know of a safe place for you: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, in Salem Center. That's a fair ways from here, so I'll just point you in the right direction and distract these guys myself." (I gather "guys" is a derisive term; I've never heard it used before except when Angel applied it to those black-suited fellows.) Angel glanced back at them, then at me. "Are you going to be alright?"

I clenched my jaw and nodded shortly. "I'll be fine," I whispered, meeting his eyes worriedly. "I'll find the place. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'll be fine." He set a hand on my back and gestured down the street. "Don't worry about me, love. Anything happens, I have a semi-rapid healing ability that will pull me through." I was too bewildered to ask what that meant. "Now go ahead, I'll take care of these guys." Before I could say another word, he took off at a sprint, flapping his wings and ascending quickly.

I reached my hand after him, but I have been in enough battles to know that disaster strikes when you don't work together as a team. Lingering would be a really bad idea and going against his orders would undermine his plan. Furious with myself for leaving him to fight MY unknown assailants, feeling like a coward of the worst sort, I broke into a headlong gallop and didn't look back.

There was a horrible bang. Hard to say if it was significant or just New York City; I wasn't about to slow down the mad clatter of my hooves just to satisfy my curiosity. People screamed and dove out of my way, and I did my best to twist and steer clear of them; but I couldn't avoid a stroller that suddenly loomed before me when I rounded a corner. I had a glimpse of a white-faced mother before I cleared her and her stroller in a flying leap and kept on running.

My heart was pounding in my ears as I said prayer after prayer, begging Aslan to keep Angel safe. When I was far enough away, I slowed down and pressed a shaking hand to my face. I couldn't have imagined a worse way to enter a new world.

Gathering my shattered nerves, I walked on with feigned composure. A nervous older gentleman stopped to stare, but there was a different - even kind - light in his eyes, so I decided to ask him for directions to Xavier's.

"Ah yes miss. Half a moment, miss," he said, scribbling hastily on a little scrap of paper. He gave me a knowing look, which was rather disconcerting. "You'll fit right in there, miss," he assured me in a grandfatherly way, casting uneasy glances around. "There are... others like you there." He gave me a knowing look.

My heart soared with hope. Centaurs! I thanked him and set off, but my mind was so occupied with concern over Angel that I don't remember the trip there. One moment I was loping over cement sidewalks down city streets; the next I was standing before an imposing-looking mansion. With an expressionless sigh, I looked up into the skies, hoping to see a familiar figure winging his way towards me. But the skies were empty.

Finally I sidled under a tree and stood there in the shadows, waiting. I had an excellent vantage point of those coming and going, but I was not readily visible. I switched my tail periodically, and I noticed it was more like Narnia here: Quiet, peaceful, with the twittering of birds and the soft hush of wind in the leaves. Soothing, and yet not so: What was taking Angel so long?

The hours were interminable, and I lost count of them long before one of those unique transportation vehicles drew up before the mansion, and Angel dragged himself from the backseat. Delight and relief exploded in my chest, and I nearly raced out to meet him, but I forced myself to wait until the coachman - or whatever you call him - had driven away. Then I bolted from my hiding place and ran straight up to him.

"Angel, you had me worried, what took you so long?!" I demanded in a rush, but my jumbled words were cut off by a strangled gasp as he turned slightly and I saw his crimson-stained wing. My jaw fell. "Oh no, you're bleeding." I leaned as close to the wound as I dared, and my heart plummeted. "I'm going to need boiling water and bandages to deal with this," I said, my survival instincts kicking in. I put a firm arm around him, and he leaned heavily against me; he was weak and dizzy. I staggered backwards slightly and then caught him in a stronger grip. "Do they have some inside?" I asked, struggling to maintain emotional equilibrium.

He was in a lot of pain. "Yeah... yeah, they'll have all that inside."

I helped him to the door, looking up at it with some trepidation. "By the mane, I hope they know you well enough to let me pass," I muttered.

Angel heard me. "Don't worry... the professor is welcoming to everyone, even humans when they come to visit." _It's not common to welcome humans cordially?!_ flashed across my mind. I was in a world of trouble. "You'll feel right at home here," he went on in a voice that was little more than a groan, glancing at my golden-furred centaur body. "Trust me."

I didn't, but I had no choice.

He knocked softly on the door, and when there was no answer, he moaned and reached back for a wallet, pulling out a card and sliding it through an unfamiliar device. The door opened of its own accord. Any other time, I might have been impressed. As it was, I was concerned with squeezing us both through the doorframe at the same time.

"Okay... stay as quiet as you can... I don't want anyone to know I got hurt again," he whispered. _Again?!_ My mind reeled. "They always complain that... I'm too reckless." I didn't want him talking any more, so I did as he asked and, supporting most of his weight, I rushed us down the hall according to his guidance. He unlocked a door, which was to his room, and he let go of me and promptly crumpled to the floor.

I let out a little cry and shut the door, then turned Angel gently onto his stomach. I was falling apart, but I couldn't now - for his sake. I steeled myself and put on my best impression of the head healer at the Council Ring, a sharp-tongued lady centaur named Briarmist. "Alright... now be patient. And don't you go unconscious on me!"

With those orders, I left him on the floor and searched the room for supply closets. I found wardrobes, bookcases, and other miscellaneous cupboards, but not what I was looking for. I tried another door and found two porcelain basins inside, water still pooling on the shiny white surfaces, and I knew I was on the right track. I fiddled with the silver levers until water sprouted forth. Best of all, the left knob drew hot water, so I didn't have to wait around for it to boil.

I discovered towels and a linen sheet in a closet. I dumped out a bucket with paper scraps in it and filled it with very hot water, and taking my supplies I trotted out to Angel. He did not look happy to see me; he made a face and shut his eyes.

I couldn't blame the poor fellow. Carefully, I knelt down and settled myself at his side.

"This is going to hurt," I told him soothingly, dipping a towel in the scalding hot water and dabbing it at the wound. He gave a sharp gasp and I jerked the towel away, then tried again, retreating every time he flinched. I made myself keep going, but this was killing me. I managed to clean away much of the blood, and I was a little heartened to see the shallowness of its continuing flow. I produced a flask of Dwarven Ale from my satchel, which I carried with me for the very purpose, and splashed some on the wound to disinfect it, casting a worried glance at Angel. Every muscle in his trembling body was tense; it was stinging him badly.

I tore the bedsheet into strips and carefully bound his wing (which was impossible to do without jarring it, despite my best efforts, and my shaking hands didn't help matters any), then took out a tiny cordial and let a drop fall between his lips. I saw him react in pain-drugged surprise as if trying to identify the liquid. I had to look away from him - I couldn't bear it anymore - and concentrated on his blood-soaked feathers instead, and I stroked the blood away, removing more of the stain with each pass of the towel. It was an enormous job - his wings are very large and magnificent. My throat constricted and I knew I was in danger of crying.

I swallowed hard. "Say something, Angel," I pleaded.

He didn't, at first. I sensed him trying to relax under my continued attentions to his feathers, but I don't know how sensitive his feathers are or what it feels like to have someone running gentle fingers between them. Chances are, he couldn't feel anything at all. Then he tried to talk. "W-what did you give me?"

I hesitated, focusing with all my might on cleaning those wings as if my life depended on it. "A cordial," I answered in a subdued tone. "It was given to one of our queens to revive wounded creatures on the battlefield."

Ignoring his half-coherent mumbles of, "Queens? Battlefield?", I took the bucket of water to the bathroom and refilled it with cooler water. I returned to find him twisting his head around to peer at his wing and the mess of pink feathers. His expression told of discomfort, but he was a little improved, perhaps because of the cordial, I thought.

He looked at me as I knelt by his side, his eyes clear and comprehending. "Where did you say you're from?" Before he could say more, I pressed a cool towel to his perspiring forehead, longing to soothe away the pain of the whole experience. He leaned his cheek into the towel in an endearing gesture of grateful trust. "T-thank you... for taking care of me. I might've bled to death before my body had a chance to repair itself..."

"It's the least I could do," I said softly, still stroking his forehead.

He asked for a glass of water and spread his good wing over the carpet. While I washed his face longer than necessary, calming him gently, he observed, "It's funny... You look just like a centaur, and I look like an angel. The world works in strange ways."

Wondering if he was slightly delirious or else extremely humorous, saying he looked "just like an Angel", I went back to rinsing his feathers while I told him a little of Narnia, of my home. Then I rose and plucked the pillow from his bed, and I tucked it gently under Angel's head, running my hand soothingly over his hair as I settled him onto it. Then I pilfered a blanket from the linen closet and draped it over him, pulling the top corners upwards in a U-shape to avoid his wings and still covering his shoulders to prevent him from catching a chill. Lastly, I trotted beside his good wing for one last trip to the bathroom, my hoofsteps muffled in the soft carpet as I openly admired eight feet of gorgeous feathers. I found a glass and filled it with cold water, then came back and knelt beside his head, carefully balancing his chin in my hand and letting him sip a little at a time.

The reviving effect cold water had on him was remarkable, and he looked very comfortable and very happy, lying there beneath the soft blanket with his cheek pressed into a cushy pillow, and swallowing slow draughts of refreshingly cold water as I administered it to him. He looked up at me with such gratefulness in his kind eyes, and my heart warmed as I smiled down at him and helped him drink a little more. I felt a surge of something I couldn't explain, like motherly protectiveness, as I tenderly cared for him. He became a little conversational with me, a sure sign he was feeling better.

"I bet a lot of people ask if you're 'part horse', don't they. I get 'part bird' all the time," he confided, smiling. "Don't you hate that?"

"I do hate that," I responded with sudden undiluted ferocity, holding back my own smile. "They can't get over the notion that I'm not a horse at all, or a daughter of Eve. It's really quite maddening, but honestly I never thought anyone else might go through it who wasn't a centaur." He gave an appreciative chuckle at my ramblings, and I decided to be honest with him. "I wish there were some like you in Narnia, Angel. Actually I'm... brutally jealous. I've always wanted wings."

His smile grew shy. "A lot of people say that, but it's not always so great having a sixteen-foot wingspan. I can't sit in chairs, all my shirts have to be custom-made, I have to sleep on my stomach, and you don't even want to know how long it takes me to shower."

I smiled, greatly amused by his frank boyish demeanor.

At last I sat back and studied his bandaged wing ruefully. The stain had faded to a pastel rose color. "There's nothing more I can do for those feathers," I told him quietly. "They're pink and they're going to stay pink. My advice is to get some pink dye and finish coloring the rest of your feathers pink, and then you'll just have to convince your comrades that pink is the latest style." A slow grin threatened my tense expression.

He laughed for the first time all day. "Somehow I don't think that's going to work. I might just have to leave them this way until I start molting again." His laughter was contagious, and I laughed with him, both at my own words and at his reaction to them.

It was a mistake. At my outburst of emotion, the floodgates jarred loose and tears I had been holding back for hours suddenly blurred my vision and surged over before I could stop them, followed by a violent sob. I hastily set down the glass and released Angel's jaw before my trembling hand could rattle his teeth, and covering my face I turned aside.

"You shouldn't have done that," I told him in between muffled sniffles, tears running down my face. "You could have been killed... I should be the one lying there injured, not you. I wish I hadn't told you they were back there and then none of this would've have happened. I'm really sorry, Angel."

I heard him shift, and suddenly his arms were around me, turning me towards him and drawing me into an embrace. He was sitting up and he shouldn't have been. I wanted to protest, but I had neither strength nor will to protest, and my words were inexplicably lost when I felt his hand press against my cheek, smoothing away the tears there.

"Don't cry, dear," he murmured over me. Gentled, I returned this embrace, slipping my arms around his back as he spoke. "If you had kept quiet about those men, they might've seriously hurt both of us. This way, only one of us had to bear the brunt of the attack, and that was me." A sudden sniff escaped me, and he leaned back, cradling me a little in his arms. It was my turn to feel like a youngling foal in his care. I surrendered, closing my eyes and feeling remarkably comfortable as we spoke softly of Narnia, and war, and peace, and the price of peace.

I did not yet know what a Guardian Angel was, but at that moment, my heart understood the term completely.


	6. True Colors

Centaurs have an innate sixth sense about people they meet. They can tell a lot almost immediately from the way a stranger comports himself, and they can read tales in eyes.

But Angel is a paradox.

He's practically a stranger, but already I trust him - enough to tell him my real story and reveal to him that, by touching the sapphire choker Aslan gave me, I can take the form of a human girl in a modest cream-colored peasant dress with leather laces. This transformation was a must for my excursion in Paris, aiding me in my mission to place the worthier king on the throne of France; but very possibly I should have worn something fancier than peasant attire for my trip to New York City. I planned to blend in with the populace; I never dreamed that women of this time period dressed so... so... differently. In trousers even. My mind is still reeling.

Angel hasn't seemed to mind my appearance, either as a centaur or as an out-of-time peasant. This is tremendously relieving.

But back to Angel's story.

Such deep pain I've never before encountered, making my own tale seem lovely and easy-free by comparison. When his wings grew in during his teenage years, his life changed to the point where he tried, countless times, to amputate the uninvited appendages himself (which tells me that the emotional pain he suffered at the hands of his family and peers was far greater than the physical, for him to attempt something so drastic). But his tenacious wings kept growing back because of his healing abilities. His family disowned him in all but name (he's going to inherit some company that belongs to his father, and for some reason that's very important to Angel). Angel's parents forced Professor Xavier to accept Angel into his school for mutants by threatening to have Angel's wings surgically removed - a procedure that likely would have killed him.

This story dissolved me to helpless tears. In Narnia, such an atrocity is unheard of: Family is a source of love and stability; it does not become one's enemy. It is... beyond unthinkable.

I don't cry in front of anybody. In a futile gesture, I tried to hide behind my hand, but Angel gently dragged by hands from my face and gazed at me with great sincerity.

"Violar... please don't cry. Please, I'm not worth the tears. Besides, I'm fine, see?" And he fluttered the tips of both wings at me; if I hadn't been so shredded up at that moment, I might have laughed. "Sure, there are plenty of emotional scars deep down," he went on. "But... I am happy now. This place is my new home, and these other mutants are my new family. They do their best to take care of me, just like you are doing now."

It was painful to stop crying. But he was trying so hard for my sake to cheer me up that I could not finish crying right then and there; with a wrenching effort I buried my sorrows on his behalf and saved them for later. I frowned at his words, but I returned his gaze on equally sincere grounds.

"Don't say that. You are worth the tears, Angel," I told him with great feeling. "I think too few have been shed for you, so take my small contribution as a gift." My throat constricted, and I couldn't say any more.

Angel is truly amazing: Despite everything that's happened to him, he's a happy fellow who loves to laugh and sharpen his rapier wit at the expense of whoever's available. Brutal honesty, especially when you least expect it, is another of his strong suits. His charisma is infectious and his tenacious spirit irresistible, along with his uncontainable mischief. I'll bet you anything he's a prankster at heart. And he's fiercely competitive. He displays devastating charm, especially when it comes to women. He's very proud of his wings, now. They are both a curse and a blessing, but he knows he can't live without them. This produces an interesting combination of contrasting feelings about mutants and wings in general; either side of the coin - positive or negative - is liable to surface at anytime. But Angel never dwells on the negatives for long, hence his delightful disposition. If he's not going to wallow, I can't either. At least not in front of him. I prefer to brood when I'm alone regardless.

Early on, I made a huge mistake that a lesser man might've been extremely offended by. It was entirely female folly on my part, because sometimes emotional females don't think straight or consider the masculine ego. I admit it - but please don't tell anyone you heard it from me. It's supposed to be a lady's secret.

The first time I broke down crying, my outburst was due entirely to the fact that he risked his life to save mine. Even now, now that it's all over, I still feel a tremendous amount of guilt for allowing him to take that risk when I could have dealt with the threat myself - though I admit I have no idea what sort of weaponry causes a wound like that. Angel tried to explain to me about shards of metal propelled at extremely high velocities, but what sort of bow would one need to accomplish a feat like that? The projectile had blown straight through his wingbone with such force that the wound was perfectly round and left no jagged edges. I still shudder to think of it.

He was cradling me in his arms and I was still overwhelmed by... everything, really... when I committed my faux pas.

"I learned to wield two swords instead of one. I am a rather fearsome fighter, which is why, Angel," I said, opening my eyes to gaze up at him, "I don't want you to fight anything like that alone again, especially when the attack is aimed at me. I can hold my own, and I am dangerous," I added, making the statement because I knew I looked anything but dangerous as I gazed up at him through misty gray eyes filled with grateful sympathy.

There's no quicker way I can advise you to take a man down a peg - just have a woman say she'll fight his battles for him.

I didn't realize what I'd done until he looked embarrassed and twitched a wing in a gesture I recognized as self-consciousness. "I can see you're serious about fighting beside me next time, so I won't stop you. I could always use the help, especially since I've yet to finish combat training. And besides, I'm not nearly as powerful as most other mutants."

My turn to be embarrassed. _Way to go, Violar,_ I mentally kicked myself. "I'm sorry, Angel. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm rather proud of my prowess as a warrior and spoke before thinking. I do think you're magnificent," I added quickly, my words sounding feeble in my own ears. "Truly. I didn't mean to belittle you... I only... I was only upset because you nearly gave your life for mine." I looked away from him, ashamed.

He noticed me blush and smiled kindly, squeezing my hand. "It's alright. I know you didn't mean anything by it. Sometimes, I just feel a little inadequate. That's why I go to such great lengths to prove myself."

I was incredibly fortunate that humility is another one of Angel's virtues.

The most incredible thing about Angel is his sacrificial selflessness. He hates it when others cry on his behalf, for example. Both times I broke down (to my great chagrin, right in front of him), he set his own troubles aside and took mine into his arms. Literally. Or he does his best to alleviate embarrassment, even when the fault is my own. He loves being a part of the X-Men because he loves to help people. It shows in a thousand ways.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not under any delusions about Angel. He's not perfect. He's a playboy and I knew it almost from the moment I met him. He knows he's not perfect and he doesn't pretend to be. But there's a lot more to him than that, and there are things I know - or guess, perhaps, would be the better term - about him that I may get up the courage to discuss with him someday. If I'm right, it would explain everything.

And I'll do my best not to damage his ego in the process. The thing to remember, from the vast dictates of centaur wisdom, is never to blurt anything out while drowning in guilt and misery.

In the meantime, I'm rather in awe of Angel and not afraid of him at all, and I love his true colors. I know he'd hate it if I compared him to birds, but Angel has the power and noble bearing of an eagle, the grace of a swan, the heart of a dove, the simple abandoned joy of a songbird, and the proud - yet not arrogant - beauty of a peacock.

Again, don't tell him I said that. If I must compare him to anything later, it'll be... something much more intimidating. Lions, for starters.


	7. Such Great Heights

Confession: I harbor the worst jealousy towards anything that flies. I always have. Angel was, unfortunately, no exception.

"You know, being a mutant can't be as bad as you make it out to be, Angel," I said to him while tending his injured wing. "I, for one, would give a whole lot just to soar in those beckoning skies, if only for an hour."

When I told Angel that, he looked at me apologetically. "I wish I could offer to take you into the clouds... However, as strong as my wings are, I don't think they could quite handle your weight. No offense."

I didn't answer right away. I hesitated for a long time, then steeled myself and closed my hand around my sapphire choker. Immediately I shifted into a much smaller version of myself - a human girl in a peasant dress. "This... might help a little," I offered quietly.

He gave a start at my abrupt change in appearance. "Well, I could most definitely carry you like that, but not until my wing is healed, I'm afraid..." And he lifted the bandaged wing pathetically with a forlorn expression.

From the moment I've met him, Angel has been giving to me. He's been my protector and my comforter from the very start - my Guardian Angel.

It's hard for me to let him comfort me - me, a strong creature who is too proud to show weakness in front of anyone - or to accept his variety of gifts, being a tough old centaur of 43 - almost 44, come next month. (I'm nearly at that age where I'll get to be as stubborn as the rest of my kin; they say it happens to us centaurs at about 50. There's a saying in Narnia about how you can't tell an old centaur that life as they know it will change; this stage never caught up with my parents and I hope it doesn't catch up with me. I shudder to think of a day when it might. I simply couldn't stand myself.)

I have been struggling with all my might to keep up with Angel since day one. My pride doesn't allow me to accept more than I receive, as doing so would put me in the debt of the giver and I would then lose control; so Angel's influence is hard on me, as you might well imagine. The challenge is to remember that Angel loves giving gifts; to deny him that privilege is actually a cruelty.

Nonetheless, I could not stay my need to give back to him. Saving one's life is a rather great debt to repay, after all.

"Angel... until you are healed, I want to be your wings," I told him earnestly. "There is a kind of flying centaurs experience. I'll gladly carry you myself, and you can feel the wind in your face and the sheer joy of weightless travel, punctuated only by the sound of hoofbeats." It wasn't merely an offer as it had been to the knight and to Philippe; it was a desperate request. "Will you accept?"

I was thrilled and relieved when he pounced on the opportunity with all the eagerness in which I had given it. Changing back into a centaur, I helped him climb onto my back, then rose to my hooves and peered out into the hallway.

It was empty, which was good. Down the corridors I went at a smooth trot, Angel's hands clasped securely in mine for stability and balance, until we reached the courtyard. I stepped out the door and gazed upwards, and I sensed Angel doing the same - and I felt a tremendous longing to be up there, soaring higher than the pigeons scattered across the blue expanse. The feeling was coming from Angel, not me, but I sensed it just as keenly as if it were my own wish. I lowered my gaze to the lawn spreading like a perfect blanket before us, soft and green and inviting.

I smiled when he put his arms around my waist and squeezed me tightly in preparation for the ride. I went out to the edge of the courtyard, moving fluidly as a cat on the prowl. "Hold on with your knees," I instructed him, but it wasn't necessary: Angel is, surprisingly, a very good rider. I didn't have to tell him anything.

I stopped and surveyed the land for a long moment. Turning my head, I met his eyes over my shoulder. "You ready for this, Angel?"

Bridled excitement shone in his eyes. "Yes, I'm ready... but start out slow, okay? Then speed up as you see fit."

I smiled. "I will. I-"

Suddenly a cloud covered over the sun, casting the world under shades of gray. I whirled to face it and saw a mini storm cell hovering above us like a dark eagle. Suddenly a gust of wind hit us, whipping my hair back like black flames. My whole being came alive; I quivered with electric energy. I twisted slightly and wheeled, turning a full circle, and danced on delicate limbs; prancing with anticipation.

Suddenly I rose up on my hind legs and lunged forward, tucking my forefeet and balancing impossibly for one shining moment, stretched out full-length and suspending us in midair, laughing joyously as I gloried in my own magnificent height. Then, as gravity drew me to itself and I descended into the emerald lawn, I surged forward an instant before my forefeet touched the grass and exploded.

I took flight in the only way I could, bounding mightily across the entire courtyard and charging into the wind. Faster and faster I raced, tearing across the green in a swift rush of churning hooves, kicking up a satisfying cloud of debris in my wake and listening to the wind singing in my ears.

I built up a solid head of speed before I shifted from mad galloping to more of a springy, deer-like stride which kept me airborne longer and seemed to still time itself. The determined breeze swayed from one direction to the other, and I twisted with it like a living weathervane, running always straight into its heart and letting it take me wherever it willed. Nothing existed but the grass whispering beneath my feet, and the wind washing through my hair, and the tingly feeling of being alive all over, running on and on and on as if I were chasing eternity.

I had gone quite wild with the thrill of the oncoming storm. I laughed again and glanced over my shoulder, and on catching sight of my rider I remembered my promise - too late - and slowed down, pacing over the green until I fell into a more suitable trot.

"Sorry," I said, flushing. I had been clinging tightly to his arms the whole time, but in my joy I had forgotten that I carried Angel.

Angel, while obviously relieved I decided to curtail my headlong gallop, was grinning from ear to ear and glowing with excitement. "No, no, it's okay," he said, still holding onto me for dear life. "That was..." He searched for a word. "Spectacular!" He bounced on my back, and catching his mood I laughed and bounded forward once before pulling myself back to a loping trot. Angel went on: "I still don't think it's as good as flying, but it's the closest anyone will ever come, I'll give you that." He cast another pitiful look at the skies, then at his bandaged wing, but there was no denying that I had brought him joy - however temporarily - and I returned his smile wholeheartedly. "You're much faster than my horse, you know. Of course, I could probably let her speed up if she was capable of holding onto me like you did."

I laughed. Winding his arms more firmly about me, I broke into a rocking canter, gliding over the manicured yard with ease while I asked him if his horse could talk. That greatly amused him, and before our conversation was over, I had offered to take him with me to visit Narnia - an offer he gladly accepted.

He was explaining about the X-gene and how he is most certainly NOT a bird, but a man who deserves to be treated as such (I couldn't help grinning when he nodded in a firm, decisive manner at that statement), and he let one wing brush against me. I jumped and skittered sideways, laughing.

"That tickles," I informed him, shuddering all over. He laughed at my outburst. Then I slowed to a conversationally lazy trot with my tail casually whisking from side to side - an action that seemed to fascinate Angel. There was an idea gleaming in his eyes a moment before I saw a girl enter the courtyard and shied a little, coming to a quick halt and considering my options.

There were none. In Narnia, I'd never live down the disgrace of being seen with a rider; centaurs never, ever allow anyone to sit upon their backs. It's a matter of utmost pride and dignity, which I have foregone on rare occasions - twice before, actually; once because a knight was in immediate danger and it was our only hope of escape, and another time because one with a kingly bearing came to Narnia - and this time I had an excellent reason for it: Angel had saved my life and given up his wings in the process. I was giving them back in the only way I could.

But I still didn't appreciate being caught. My pulse sped up and my mind raced: But there was no hiding that Angel was on my back, and he certainly had no qualms about it. He shamelessly drew all kinds of attention our way.

"Hey, Sofia!"

I groaned inwardly, but forced a smile and a polite nod at Sofia as she stared, too dumbfounded at the sight of a winged human riding a centaur to respond. (We must have made an impressive picture, come to think of it.) Angel went on waving pleasantly as I slowly moved onward, still agitated.

Angel noticed. "Don't worry," he assured me, offering me his hand again, which I accepted gratefully. "That was just Sofia, codename: Wind Dancer. She's a friend of mine, and a fellow mutant."

I was left breathless, and I exclaimed, "Winddancer! That was my nickname from..." I trailed off. Angel gently pried about my unfinished statement, so I hesitantly told him that my mother used to call me Winddancer when I was younger because I was always chasing the wind. It was a painfully bittersweet memory.

He was watching my swishing tail thoughtfully. "Oh... what a strange coincidence. Well, Sofia is called that because she can control the wind, even use it to move herself through the sky. A lot of mutants have the ability to control one or more of the elements." He made a face, and I fought back a smile at his almost comical expression. "Not me, though. I'm what's known around here as a Class 2. The scale goes from 1 to 5, with 5 being the most powerful."

I felt badly that he was classified lower than he liked, so I patted his hand. But his mind was elsewhere. He sighed and reddened slightly. "I think she has a bit of a thing for me," he said then, and I knew he meant Sofia. "But you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn't at this school. I'm not proud to say I have a reputation for being a bit of a playboy. It gets me into a lot of trouble."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Now... the playboy reputation I guessed," I told him with frank candor. "But I didn't know you weren't proud of it." I sent a smile over my shoulder. "I'm glad to hear you're not proud of it, but why not change that? Don't you get tired of it, because it's so... so empty? Why not chase after something real? It's never too late to change, you know. Though I can see why the ladies would be impressed with you," I added, growing pink in my turn. "Or your wings, or both. It's a hard combination to resist. But you don't have to give in to that, Angel. Besides that, you have a kind heart. There's a lot more to you than looks and wings. Looks and wings anyone can have, but... you are special, Angel," I said with conviction, leaning back to rub my head on his shoulder affectionately. "I never flatter. Never. I only tell the truth, and often the truth isn't what people want to hear. In this case, you're lucky, because truth comes off to you as flattery. Angel, there's no reason for you to be a playboy and especially," I cast a warm look over my shoulder, "since you're not proud of it."

He chuckled heartily. "Just because I'm not proud of it, doesn't mean I want to change. It's the lifestyle that fits me best, unfortunately. I hate being caged into things, physical or emotional, and relationships are no exception. Besides, I'll never be able to put a stop to all the women constantly hitting on me, and that makes girlfriends very nervous, oftentimes to the point of paranoia. And then, they always take it out on me, regardless of whether or not I'm actually guilty." Then he leaned in and whispered devilishly, "But I usually am." He winked at me, then went on with a sigh. "You know, if you spoke to my ex-girlfriend, you'd no doubt retract all that flattery. Sorry, love. I'm not as angelic as I appear." He shrugged apologetically, running his hand through my hair.

I started to answer him and ended abruptly with a squeal and a sideways leap as Angel deliberately brushed his wing against my side. Giggling uncontrollably, I broke into a canter, kicking up my heels while holding tightly onto Angel's forearms so he wouldn't fall amid my wild antics.

Angel was laughing, startled at my reaction, but pleased. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

I shot him a mock glare. "I forgive you," I bit out. I shuddered away the ticklish feeling and thrashed my tail, grinning, and I skipped a little when the sun emerged to shine on us. Angel leaned back and turned his face fully to its warmth.

I smiled. He was putting up with my lecture remarkably well, so I decided to continue, but in a slightly different vein: I've never met a human who was a self-proclaimed restless spirit, like I am, and I told him so. "I hate being caged into things. That's why I haven't had a romantic relationship ever. That, and I haven't found someone who fit me. I also have people 'hitting' on me, as you say, all the time. But I don't give in to it." I quirked an expressive eyebrow at him before going on, hoping he got the hint: If I could do it, anyone could. "One thing I learned from my parents is that true love doesn't fetter. The one who's right for you will be the gateway to freedom. Something like that is special enough to wait a lifetime for, and I won't settle for anything less," I finished proudly.

He was a little taken aback. "I'm a little surprised to hear you've never had a boyfriend before. I mean, how old are you? How long do centaurs even live? You know, it's okay to have a little fun now and then. You don't have to be in love before you allow yourself a taste of what's out there."

Sudden ire rose in me. Recent memories of a certain knight who'd used the same argument on me surfaced with a vengeance. I helped Angel down from my back, and when he sat in the grass, I rounded on him, my expression less than pleased. I knelt down beside him, neatly curling my white tail to one side.

"I hate it when people say that," I told him with fierce conviction, but no anger directed towards Angel personally. "I do have fun just as I am, but I'm not going to toy with hearts that aren't mine. I'm not going to bring a laundry list to my husband and say, 'Oh, sweetie, I hope you don't mind, but I was with so-and-so before you, and this person, and that person...'," I mimicked in a high syrupy tone. "I don't want to be an... an experiment, Angel. I want to be loved for who I am, not what I have to offer; and I would choose a mate who believes in that, among other things. It's like... in the desert of Loneliness, there are oasises, and then there's Paradise. It's easy to get to the oasises, but one must give up everything in order to obtain Paradise. I won't meet you halfway to an oasis, but I will meet you halfway to Paradise."

His smile wilted under the heat of my anger. "So, you're saying that you're not going to do anything until marriage." He shrugged. "I respect that. It's just not how I live my life personally. And your analogy was rather elegant. Paradise and oasises... But what if you find true love in the latter? It's possible. I don't just go to bed with any random girl, I choose ones that I feel have some potential, and go from there." I shifted uneasily at his candidness. "Unless I'm drunk," he added, laughing. Abruptly he caught my disapproving glance and let it drop. "Sorry, I probably sound like a complete jerk. I have been in love, though. Once. Until I did something stupid and totally blew it out of the water." He shook his head, frustrated with himself.

I couldn't help feeling sorry for him, though the predicament was of his own making. I only hoped he wasn't despairing of finding love again...

Flushing at my own boldness when I didn't know all the details of his life, I said, "Forgive me, Angel. It's not really any concern of mine." And to my relief, as if in mutual agreement, we let the issue rest.

"You've only commented on the good things about me. I'm sure you have noticed some bad things," Angel remarked. "Care to share any of those observations with me?"

Abruptly I turned to his wing, a business I was dreading somewhat, and I drew my long knife, glancing sideways at Angel when he had a violent reaction to the sight of a blade. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his midsection. I touched his cheek and soothed him, then carefully slit the linen sheet bandage and slowly unwrapped his wing, my mind busy with his final question. "Just that you're a playboy and that's all I know for right now. You fix that, and you might turn out alright..." I gasped softly and finished, "Just like this wing."

The last of the bandage came away, revealing his healed wing good as new. I ran my fingertips lightly over it before Angel flapped it hesitantly, then grinned when there was no pain. "This calls for a celebration flight. Care to join me?"

Did I ever! I shifted into a human, wound my arms around his neck, and let my gaze drift heavenward while butterflies ran rampant in my stomach. Angel picked me up as if I weighed no more than a feather, and he broke into a sprint. With a joyous shout of "Here we go!" he spread his mighty wings, leaped up, and with a great _whoosh, whoosh_ were ascending into the skies.

I gave a soft gasp of delight as we rose higher and higher, leaving the world to shrink smaller and smaller below. It was every bit as invigorating as I thought it'd be, and more; the wind no longer sang, but wailed in wild symphonies that tore at my heart with intense urgency. I _felt_ him laughing; it was warm and contagious, and I joined him. Just when Angel brought my hand within a whisper of the clouds I longed to touch, he tucked his wings and went into such a dive that I was left unable to breathe, all my air stolen by the swift descent that sent wind, glorious wind, whipping past me and causing my dark hair to fly straight up. We plummeted to the earth at deadly speeds. He pulled up at the last second. The grass brushed us, and then we were rising again, and we were laughing as I clung tightly to his back with my other hand resting lightly against his chest.

With most of his antics spent, Angel locked his wings straight out, closed his eyes, and soared. I studied him: Fully at peace, radiant with beauty in his natural element, before I, too, closed my eyes. There was no sensation to be had except touch: The warmth of the sun, the rush of the wind, the open sky, and the gentle strength of Angel. He tightened his arms around me until my head was resting against his chest and my ear was near his heart as we flew onward.

Angel was speaking of the way things were in his first flight, and I listened with a little smile but said nothing. My wild spirit reveled in its favorite realm: Freedom. As we neared the silver-spired towers of New York City, Angel gazed down with pity. "Look... I think they've spotted us. Poor saps are probably jealous."

When I opened my eyes, the world was a slight tint of green, which came from the sun burning against my closed eyelids. Normal people were quite possibly as envious as I'd been the first time I'd seen Angel's wings, and I looked down on them with searing sympathy. And then I suddenly felt very lucky, and with an inaudible mumble I turned my face against Angel's shoulder and hugged him tighter.

And drifted fast asleep while the wind sang me a lullaby.

Not even the longest of flights can last forever, and it was with keen dismay that I awoke to hear him say he was taking us back, because it was getting late. Now that there was an end in sight, I was suddenly desperate to hold on to every drop of freedom, and I sat up and paid attention to every last detail of the flight: What it felt like to pass through a cloud, what the world looked like spanning in every direction - tiny green trees and patchwork quilts of fields ringed by distant mountains touched with the gold of the dying sun. Superimposed over the scenery were memories of this incredibly long day: Facing death, meeting Angel, a mad gallop through the city of New York, caring for a wounded Angel, and two flights in a row: One mine and one his.

When he offered to take me up into the skies anytime I wished, I couldn't help it: I lurched upward and hugged his neck, protected from disappointment as he swooped low to the ground, flaring his wings at the last second before setting me on my feet. I steadied my knees and leaned my head into his hand when he smoothed my windblown hair down with a chuckle.

We went inside. The X-mansion has been hopelessly crowded these days, and Angel was forced to get a roommate named Jay, whom is, I gather from Angel, a hopeless nuisance. I'll find out for myself before long, because I'm going to stay in their room and sleep on the floor in my centaur form. Angel offered me his own bed, but I refused because I couldn't bear to accept anything more from him.

Angel was exhausted. He flopped down on his bed, stretched his wings to the ceiling before folding them neatly against his back, and I tucked him in and stroked his hair until he fell asleep - though it didn't take very long. My eyes softened as I looked down at him.

A paradox, indeed... but sometimes he reminds me of a young boy who's really not so complicated after all, who is just as in love with the wind as I am. I whispered a prayer over him as night fell in New York City.


	8. Honor and Modern Progress

Upon leaving Angel sound asleep, I went out into the cool of the evening to think among the stars. It was still too light for good celestial viewing, but the deepening twilight was a soothing balm mixed with warm scents of departing summer.

Fall... it is my favorite time of year. The whole world comes to life with golden flame, and the wind becomes a bittersweet messenger of another year about to slip into the pages of Time; and the cries of geese headed southward are often enough to bring me to tears. There's a tinge of undefinable scent to the air: It speaks of memory lost and found, and coming winter. The time to prepare is short. Indeed, it is almost at its end.

So deep in my reverie was I that I was unprepared for the gruff voice that said, "Can I uh, help ya?"

I staggered sideways, eyeing the stranger. He was a large man with a thick black beard, well-muscled and rather dangerous-looking. But I sensed no danger from him; his eyes were sincere.

My mind raced. I promised Angel I would say nothing about his injury, so I... came as close as I dared to fabricating a tale. I withdrew the little note from my pocket from earlier and explained that I was looking for an institute, and I was fuzzy on the details but that I'd apparently "fit right in" here.

With a frightening SNIKT! three large claws shot from between his knuckles. My jaw dropped, but he stated simply, "You're at the right place." He smiled and went to the door.

I hurried after him, my eyes wide and my face pale. "Aren't you in pain?!" I half-demanded. "You've been stabbed in... in... in a most horrid way!"

He merely raised an eyebrow. "Sure they hurt a little when they come out, but it's fine. I'm used to it." He retracted his claws and the three cuts healed instantly, showing no sign they'd ever been there at all... and there was no blood.

I pulled my dazed mind back into the realm of comprehensity and asked again about centaurs. He had seen no other creatures like me, to my disappointment, but I was glad enough to enter the mansion in a more legitimate manner. I wouldn't have to tell anyone about Angel's predicament now. After he obtained a locker for my weaponry, my companion told me his name: Logan. We exchanged pleasantries.

After a brief discussion on accommodations, I expressed my wish to spar and hone my warrior skills. (I had my reasons for this. All of them revolved around Angel and our brush with death earlier that same day; this Logan seemed an excellent challenge and that's what I wanted: To pit myself against a great adversary. Just to prove I could.)

"We got a pretty big courtyard outside," said Logan. "But I kinda like the Danger Room myself."

Despite myself, my whole continence lit up. We arranged an honorable duel right then and there and set off for this Danger Room. We went through a great steel door marked with a huge X, and once inside, I planted my hooves and went into my usual preliminary stretches. Finished, I faced him and bowed deeply. "How shall we proceed?"

"Well, first, we choose what scenario we want, then put it in the computer, and off we go."

I blinked twice, confused. "Well... you pick," I vouchsafed. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I added with an air of mildly feigned confidence, "Centaurs fight anywhere, anytime, in any conditions."

Logan set some controls and the world around me shifted as if by magic. I watched this whirling transformation, utterly enchanted, even though it would become a battleground shortly. I permitted myself one thrilled glance around the green woodlands Logan had conjured up, touched by golden sunlight - at this hour of the night, no less! I took up my position across from Logan, feeling something akin to admiration.

"Ready when you are," I said, steeling myself for the battle to follow. I grinned. "Only tell me if I hit you too hard."

He laughed goodnaturedly. "I was just about to say the same thing." With that he jumped back, unsheathed his claws, scaled the nearest tree and vanished in the windblown canopy.

I chuckled almost darkly under my breath. "And so the games begin," I muttered to myself, feeling downright villainous. "Let's see what you've got, my friend."

I broke into a lope, twisting around several thick trunks and then came skidding to a halt, drawing on all my senses to find him. I glanced upwards, letting my gaze rove through the silent canopy, until suddenly leaves came raining down as he leapt from tree to tree. My grin widened and I picked up my pace, keeping up with him without getting ahead of him... or directly beneath him, where he could jump me. But my adversary was more cunning than I'd given him credit for: While I was following that trail of leaves, he somehow - I don't know how - snuck up behind me and landed smugly astride my back.

"Hey there... miss me?"

Despite my initial surge of humiliation at being ridden without permission, laughter erupted inside me. Twisting around, I flashed a grin.

"You're late."

Quick as lightning, I slammed my fists into his midsection with enough force to throw him from my back and into a nearby tree. He hit the trunk with an "Oof" and slowly stood up, grinning back at me.

"Ya know I'm not supposed to hit a lady... It ain't good manners..."

Instantly flustered, I laughed. "You were the one who agreed to this battle in the first place," I reminded him. "So now you must decide which is more honorable: To hit a lady, or to break your word."

He thought about it. "Okay then..." He walked casually towards me, retracting his claws, but at the last second he charged me. My grin widened as I sidestepped slightly, seized his arm, and added a little momentum to his to carry him past me. Then I whirled and sent one of my hind hooves into his midsection, but not hard enough to do any real damage.

I spun around to face him, chuckling. "You sure you made the right choice?"

Logan climbed to his feet, rubbing his stomach. "Ow... Well the thing I should tell ya... you can beat me black and blue, and I'll still keep comin'. One of my abilities lets me heal any injury almost instantly."

I relaxed my stance slightly, pondering. "That gives you a rather distinct advantage," I observed. "For your sake, I am pleased, but that means that after several hours of pummeling, I'd eventually go down, great as my fighting prowess may be." I smiled, spoiling the effect of my otherwise arrogant statement. "In any case, can I ask you how you heal yourself, that I might implement the same strategy for myself? It seems only fair to level the playing field, although..." I paused and inclined my head to him. "I am most grateful for your kindness in revealing your hidden strength to me before the duel was finished. I wouldn't have known otherwise. It was... extraordinarily honorable of you."

"Well, like I said, I'm a mutant," Logan told me in his unique accent. "I was in the Weapon X program. I just woke up one day on a table in a lab, with claws, and blood all over me... Since then I've just been able to do that healin' thing."

Shuddering, I drew back. "How awful," I murmured, envisioning what it was like to be trapped and wild with fright upon such a discovery, and I felt horrible for him. Such a situation would have been my worst nightmare, literally. "I'm truly sorry to hear that, Logan. Can... can I see your claws?" I asked abruptly, torn between curiosity and loathing.

He stepped closer to me and brought the set of claws on his right hand out. I flinched at the expected SNIKT, unnerved by both the sight and the sound, but I clenched my jaw and set my hand very carefully atop those claws: They felt cold and metallic and deadly. Fury rose in me, and I lifted a dark scowl to Logan's face.

"Who would do such a thing?" I demanded in a tortured whisper.

"A guy named Striker... William Striker." (There was the reference to the word "guy" again. I was sure it carried an evil connotation then.) "But I'm used to 'em now, had 'em for so long."

If anything, his words stirred even more of my wrath. "Has this Striker fellow done this to anyone else?"

Logan shrugged. "Probably. Doesn't really matter now though, he's dead."

I stood back on my hooves, digesting this information. My anger fizzled, left without a target. "Aslan rest his soul," I said tightly. "I am sorry to hear it, though it burns my heart to think... so I will think no more on it."

Drawing my thoughts from their morbid realm with an effort, I directed a genuine smile at Logan. "Well then, I suppose no fight between us would really be fair. But I am willing to continue our spar, as it was only just getting interesting. I tell you, I don't mind losing to one so valiant. Indeed, it would be an honor to be defeated by you." So saying, I bowed in his direction.

Logan chuckled. "Actually, I wouldn't hit ya so you'd prob'ly end up winnin'..."

I lowered my head and gave voice to a soft laugh. "Never in my life have I wished for a lack of chivalrous conduct," I admitted. There was nothing else for it, so I bowed and relinquished any rights I maintained to count it a victory. "Is there another more pleasant pastime in which we might engage, where your honor will not come into question?" I asked next.

"Well, there's always TV in the lounge," Logan answered casually.

I cocked my head, puzzled. "What's 'TV'?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Where'd ya say you were from?"

Embarrassed and feeling utterly out of place, I lowered my head. "Narnia. You may not know where it is, but it's another... world, or someone I knew once referred to it as 'another dimension', whatever that means. All I know is... we don't have TV there."

Logan laughed. "TV is like a box with people in it."

I started at him in bewilderment. "A box with people in it?" My subsequent laughter was very cautious. "If I didn't know you better, I'd worry you were holding them all hostage, keeping them in a box like that. But I dare say that's too cruel a thing for someone like you. I suppose I'd... like to see this new marvel for myself."

Logan burst out laughing, which shocked me. He didn't seem like the sort of fellow to laugh like that on a regular basis. I swept one last glance over the beautiful woodlands before the room shifted back to the way it had been when we first arrived, and Logan led me to the lounge. There was an innocent-looking box sitting inconspicuously in the corner. Logan pressed a button, and the box erupted with noise, and a nicely-dressed gentleman was rambling on about a subject that seemed really rather dry.

I glanced askance at Logan, my eyes flitting from the laughing mutant to the TV. I trotted up to it and tapped a nail gently against the screen, then bent down and waved a hand in front of the human's eyes, creating a strobe-like silhouette of fingers fanning against the glowing television. When the fellow didn't react, I leaned in so that I was face to face with him.

"Greetings!" I began, smiling brightly. He rudely ignored me and went on talking. I frowned. "Hello there, good sir, I-" The gentleman cut me off and continued his endless monologue about things beyond my comprehension.

I had to try one last time. I drew a deep breath. "HELLO!" I shouted. Tapping the screen again, I demanded at the top of my lungs: "CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

The human went on, unfazed.

At last I stood back, utterly defeated, and cast a perplexed gaze back to Logan, blinking away the spots in my eyes caused by close proximity to that... TV... thing.

"I don't get it," I informed him, rubbing my aching forehead.

Logan was still in fits of laughter, which drew a slight grin out of me amid my confusion. This Logan could be terribly amusing. "He, he uh, can't hear ya... He's in a news studio back in the city. See, we have these things called video cameras..."

He proceeded to explain the whole process. Though I could tell that Logan was doing the best he could, it was all lost on me. I shrugged and went over to the couch, tucking my limbs to plop down on it. I deliberately ignored the television.

"Well it would seem to me that this device is flawed, since he is not at all capable of communication with me," I muttered somewhat irritably, recovering from my annoyance with the human's lack of manners. "It would seem that such an invention, to be rendered useful, would allow for dialogue. Which could be rather nice," I mused abruptly, smiling a little. "It could be used to arrange everything from... from tea parties to war councils long-distance."

It was a pretty neat idea, I thought, but Logan was unimpressed. "Well, that's why we got phones and computers..."

I blinked at him, grappling with all these strange new concepts and forming my best guesses.

"If you have... devices... that are superior to this... this THING," I declared, jerking my chin disdainfully towards the still-droning fellow confined to his box, "then why do you continue to put up with lesser inventions? It seems a rather frustrating and... and futile oddity to have around. If it were me, I would get rid of it," I told Logan decisively. "I see no purpose in it whatsoever. It may have been a nice first step, but if you've progressed beyond this..." I shrugged, eyeing the mutant challengingly.

He grinned. "Takes some gettin' used to."

I leaned back against the couch cushions, letting my white tail dangle towards the floor while I folded my arms over the top of the couch and rested my chin on them. I sighed. "I'll say."

Logan was quiet for awhile. Abruptly he turned the TV off with the press of a button. "This place is new to ya. I'm sure if I was in Europe, or wherever this Narnica place is, I'd be feelin' just like you are right now. Can't let it get ya down though."

"Narnia," I corrected calmly, watching him with my chin still balanced on my forearms. The rest of what Logan said, I ignored - a habit I was rapidly developing to prevent further confusion whenever something didn't make sense to me. It prevented a lot of mental distress on my part. I worked up a smile. "I knew, when I stepped through that tree hollow, that I'd end up in a strange place... but I didn't know HOW strange." I chuckled slightly, my thoughts dwelling on Angel. "It's all been quite beyond imagination. I never dreamed that out there, somewhere in the universe, sat a world where the inhabitants tolerated inferiority, because it was such a good 'first step' to greater things that came after it that they couldn't bear to lose it." I eyed Logan curiously. "Don't you find that at all odd?"

His brow was furrowed in thought. "When TV was invented way back when, it was in black and white - the people and everything you saw on there was black and white... so, we tried makin' it better, eventually everything was in color. That wasn't enough, so we thought maybe a bigger TV would be better. We got bigger TVs. Then they were too big. So we made them thinner, then went a step ahead and made 'em with high definition, clearer picture, better sound... eventually, they'll get even better, but it'll still be a TV." He regarded me with dark eyes. "Get my point?"

Enlightenment slowly dawned on me. "You mean you went SO far ahead that you had to backtrack and maintain a... a simpler form of life?"

He frowned a little, as if searching for a better explanation. "Right now, we're content with what we got... but eventually we'll just make it better again. Same with a lotta other stuff."

I sat back, considering. "I could be content with that also," I decided soberly, thinking of Narnia - or, more specifically, the Council Ring, and its swift deterioration as we moved toward the future. "Not all progress is progress, per se." I sighed, unconsciously slipping into the bit of French I'd learned while in Paris. "Or more accurately, not all progress is good progress."

"We learned that the hard way, many many times."

I flinched, stung. "Narnia has yet to learn."

"Some people never do."

That was a lot to think about.


	9. No Longer Alone

Would you kill the one you loved to save a world from destruction?

I don't know that I could. Logan did it, once, and though he's dealing with it remarkably well, it still hurts him. His _amour,_ Jean Grey, was taken over by something called the Phoenix. It thinks only of desire and passion, and she killed a lot of people. It came down to just Logan and Jean... and Logan did what had to be done.

By the mane... what IS it with these X-Men and their tales of such great tragedy?! How does one go on living after dealing with something like that? I wouldn't be able to draw breath after committing such an act... even if it was to save the greater good.

Fortunately for Logan, Jean came back. But so did the Phoenix.

"Have you talked to your professor about her?" I asked. The Professor was still an enigmatic figure in my mind, a shadow capable of many unknown things.

Logan was standing at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "Professor knows all about it... he was one of the victims of the Phoenix the first time."

To my own horror, I was... amused. I clapped a hand over my mouth in a futile attempt to stifle a laugh.

"I'm sorry!" I cried desperately, frantic not to offend my host. "'Tis terribly rude to laugh at a time like this, but that's so awful it's almost amusing." I scowled to overcompensate for my mirthful outburst, and only then did my features behave themselves with proper solemnity. "As long as she's fighting, Logan, there has to be a way for her to win. It's only a matter of time." I then explained that, in Narnia, I am a healer quite skilled in herblore, and I offered to do what I could for her.

Logan shook his head. "No, this is a fight Jean has to fight herself... I'm just here in case she loses."

I recoiled fiercely at the full implication of his words. Only then did I see the struggle Logan was fighting through new eyes_. No wonder he's hard as the steel of his own claws,_ I thought, clenching my fists so hard that I could feel my nails biting into my palms._ No wonder at all..._

Aloud, I said the only words I could think of at a time like this: "You're not alone, Logan."

Logan nodded absently, but his attention was drawn to something beyond the window. Mutant children were playing in the courtyard. It sounds harmless enough... until you realize these aren't ordinary children playing ordinary games. I rose from the couch and trotted over to the window and saw two boys having a race: They were moving so fast they were nothing more than two blurs of color streaking across the grounds.

"I wonder if half of 'em have any idea what goes on outside this school," muttered Logan aloud.

"Do you really want them to know, Logan?" I asked quietly, watching the children play a rather spectacular game of tag.

He was silent for awhile. "There's people out there who want all mutants dead... just because we are what we are. No matter how much ya sugar-coat it, that's how it is."

Startled, I transferred my incredulous gaze to Logan. "Just because you are... different?" Suddenly the full meaning of his words crashed down on me with devastating force. "Am I... am I different?" I knew the answer to the question, but I was so stunned by my realization that reason temporarily departed me.

"Ya may not be a mutant," Logan replied dryly, "but ya sure resemble one. Some humans are tolerant of us, but for the most part, they tend to hate when they can't understand."

"And I thought they were getting barbaric in Narnia," I remarked wryly, shock giving way to cool logic - and then indifference. "It doesn't matter," I said with deadly calm, squaring my shoulders and folding my arms. "They'll be sorry if they pick a fight with a centaur."

Logan shrugged. It was clear to me that he didn't care who hated him and who didn't. "I'm sure if any of them mutant haters saw me in person, they wouldn't have the guts to do anything anyway." Which was very wise, I mused, for though he'd been the proverbial harmless fly in the Danger Room, I sensed he was a dangerous fighter when unleashed and unbound by the dictates of honorable conduct. "They just make empty threats. Ya know, the whole 'banish the mutants' thing."

I didn't know, but I understood it. "Bullies are like that." Frowning, I watched the children laughing and playing in the courtyard. "They're just like ordinary children," I remarked, right as a young blonde girl flattened herself into two dimensions and slid under a rock to avoid detection during hide-and-go-seek. "Well... special children, to be sure, but look at them. There's nothing wrong with them."

"There's nothing WRONG with any of us," put in Logan frigidly.

I nodded quickly. "I'm well aware of that. But it's as if everyone else is stuck in... in your black-and-white television."

In lighter circumstances, Logan might have grinned. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

I mulled over the subject further until the frown made my forehead smart. Then I purposely shifted conversational directions. "Are the centaurs here persecuted also?"

"Honestly, you're the first one I've ever seen."

The shocking revelation jolted me down to the core. "The only one," I repeated, my mouth going dry. "By the mane. No WONDER they stared."

My plight and my fate was closely linked to that of the X-Men and mutants in general, I realized with startling clarity. More closely linked than I'd first thought. I resolved then to stay at the Institute awhile, instead of returning to Narnia as soon as I'd planned to, and to join forces with the X-Men - so long as the Professor would have me. Or let me stay in the mansion, for that matter. First things first: After I got that small detail squared away, I would offer to stand with them. Determination rippled through my veins. I would undertake whatever tasks or trials he set before me to prove my worth as an addition to their company - as a warrior, an advisor, and a military strategist.

All knight and all business now, I shoved away from the window and unfolded my arms, bowing slightly. "Thank you for everything, Logan."

Logan continued looking out the window. "Night."

I hesitated in the doorway, sensing something was wrong, and glanced back uneasily at Logan. But he seemed closed. I couldn't blame him; were I in his place, I would be impossible to reach. Pursing my lips, I reluctantly turned and trotted off down the hall, my mind whirling with all I'd just learned.

Being an outcast of the Council Ring made me feel a unique kinship with these mutants. The renegade centaurs are definitely looked down on by the Council Ring, and thusly all of Narnia; though I have pledged my life and my sword to their cause, to protect them and their freedom, with my very life's blood if need be, the sentiment has gone largely unreciprocated. Yet I fight on: I serve not only them, but Aslan. Aslan died for them. How could I do anything less? To be worthy of Aslan, I would walk his same road, no matter what my choice entailed.

Tonight, Aslan had allowed me a gift: For now I am no longer alone.


	10. My Blue Brother

I popped cricks out of my neck as I wandered the halls of the silent, sleeping mansion. A lot was on my mind, and my half-duel with Logan hadn't taken it out of me enough that I could consider sleep yet, though it had been an extremely long day.

Utterly fascinated by the modern architectural design of the mansion, so different from anything I was accustomed to at home, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Just as I reached a corner (which I normally would have checked, in my naturally cautious nature, but didn't in my preoccupied state of mind), a shadow appeared suddenly. There was a flash of yellow eyes and it leaped backwards, crouching and swishing its tail frantically. I scrambled backwards in a wild tangle of hooves and half-reared with a short squall of surprise, then stood there with stiff forelegs and hindquarters halfway to the floor, ready to lunge away.

"Mein Gott! I did not see you there!" the fellow cried.

"By the mane!" I exclaimed in my turn, one foreleg still lifted as if in prelude to flight, but by then I realized there was no danger; he was just as freaked as I was. Abruptly I settled all four hooves on the floor and, placing a hand over my heart, I forced a sigh of relief. "Gracious, this place is quiet as a cemetery and then you show up out of nowhere. Oh Aslan."

The shadowed fellow cocked his head quizzically, his yellow eyes gleaming out at me from the darkness of the hall. Belatedly I tucked a foreleg and introduced myself as Violar with my signature centaurian bow.

"Guten abend, fraulein," he addressed me, nodding his head in greeting. The words were indecipherable, but his tone was kind and beautifully melodic. "My name is Kurt... Kurt Wagner." I had the feeling he was imitating someone or something with this unique address, and that he derived enjoyment from it. He smiled a sharp-toothed grin, and I assessed him then.

He was humanoid in form, but blue-skinned, and sporting a tail with a spade-like ending. His ears were pointed and he was covered in swirling tattoos, and he was clad in a stiff-looking vest and striped trousers. His hands were three-fingered and his feet two-toed, and crouched down, he had an almost animalistic instinct about him. That he could be dangerous I was utterly certain, but I sensed no animosity directed towards me and I decided I had nothing to fear from him.

"I must say, I did not expect to find anyone about this evening," he said.

I returned his smile. "I wasn't expecting to meet anyone at this hour of the night either, or I would have been more on the alert." I chuckled. "I admit to not understanding some of your speech, nor have I ever seen another like you."

He stood up slowly and took a few normal steps toward me, smiling. "Ah, I am sorry for that, fraulein... force of habit I suppose. I may look a bit... er... demonic on the outside, but I'm just a harmless blue fuzzball. Really."

The emphatic way he spoke set me laughing. He held his hand to me in the same unfamiliar greeting gesture I recognized from my earlier meeting with Logan, so I hesitantly slipped my hand into his and let it be subjected to the squeeze-and-shake routine.

"Nay, don't be sorry!" I countered, still laughing. "Your language is lovely and I should feel honored to hear more of it. A blue fuzzball, indeed!"

Kurt grinned. "Danke for your kind words, fraulein. I only meant to say that... well... my appearance is usually seen as being evil or frightening. But I am nothing of the sort." He looked at me, furrowing his brow. "I must say, I am intrigued by your appearance as well. I do not think I have ever seen anything like you before..."

My turn to be emphatic. I delivered my usual speech on Aslan's creation of the centaurs, excluding me from kinship with either horses or humans. "In Narnia, where I come from, there are evil creatures - a few of which I had the misfortune of making a brief acquaintance," I went on. "Praise Aslan that I yet live. They were nothing like you and," I added, grinning at him, "they were not blue."

At the mention of my homeland, Kurt cocked his head. "Narnia? Why does it seem as though I should know that word... something in my memories from childhood... almost like a bedtime story..."

I was thoroughly enchanted by the idea of my world being a sort of fairy tale for children in this world, and I asked him to tell me anything he remembered of it, when he could.

Dimensions came into the conversation next. I explained the mysteries of dimensions, little knowing I was preaching to the choir.

"I can understand about dimensions," he said in his soft purr-like voice. "When I teleport, I briefly enter one myself, though I do not know very much about it... and it is not nearly so pleasant a place as this Narnia seems."

"Narnia is a VERY nice place," I emphasized, "but I would not be quick to judge your realm without first seeing it."

And so, he showed me.

He looked at me with those eerie yellow eyes. "Ah well... perhaps I do not want to dwell on a dimension that leaves me with this." He gestured to himself as he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared altogether.

My eyes widened. I backed slowly away, unnerved by his disembodied voice and searching everywhere to find him with no luck. I tried to tell myself that it was merely some trick he'd played on me, that he hadn't really vanished in bodily form. That simply wasn't possible!

From the darkness, he spoke again. "It seems I always have an open portal to this world around me, and it constantly casts me in shadow. Plus, it leaves this in its wake."

BAMF!

I gave a sharp cry as he disappeared in a plume of smoke scented with brimstone.

BAMF!

He reappeared on the other side of me. I jumped away and stared hard at him, my theory on theatrical tricks completely shattered, like my fragile nerves.

Kurt looked subdued and even a little sad. "Does not seem a pretty place, ja." He gave a soft rueful laugh.

"Heh," I murmured halfheartedly, fixing my eyes firmly on him as if by that one action alone, I could keep him from doing anything so... shocking... again.

He noticed my discomfort right away. Furrowing his brow, he grinned sheepishly. "I am sorry to have unnerved you, fraulein... forgive me... it is just something that I can do... I teleport from one place to another through a dimension." He dropped his head. "But I promise not to startle you again."

My fear faded like the last wisps of smoke Kurt had left in his wake. With its fading came the keen awareness that I had upset him. "You can't startle me with it now," I tried to assure him. "I know you meant no harm. It was just a huge surprise the first time, and... when faced with something you've never before seen the like of, you tend to... be unsure of it. Actually, it was... amazing."

His head tilted up towards me, gazing into my silver eyes with his yellow ones. "Ah... I am glad that I have not frightened you... I suppose I should have warned you before doing it."

How delightfully easy it was to make Kurt happy!

I changed subjects. "Your eyes tell a great many tales."

He looked up at me with simple wonder. "A great many tales? Ah... ja... perhaps... what would you like to know?"

My smile softened. "I see pain in your eyes," I answered thoughtfully. "But where there would normally be resulting bitterness, I see more humble acceptance than anything else. Altogether," I mused, clasping my hands behind my back, "tragic, but very beautiful."

He looked down momentarily. "Ah... well... my life has sometimes been... difficult... as are many others'." His hand strayed absently to his vest pocket, and I noticed a minor detail I'd not paid attention to before: There was a tiny beaded strand hanging from it, and Kurt fingered it with tender reverence before bringing his gaze back to mine. "There have been some... trials... but my faith has sustained me..."

I gazed back at him steadily. Abruptly I buckled my knees and sat down sphinx-like on the floor, tired of staring down at him from my naturally proud height of eight feet. I wanted to look up at him, for a change. I perceived some deep devotion about him, so I questioned: "You follow Aslan too?"

Once I was settled on the floor, Kurt brought himself into his customary crouch, which I was quickly realizing was a most comfortable pose for him. His tail swished in a pleased manner. "A follower of God, yes..."

There was a connection between us - a connection that told me we spoke of the same Lord.

He noticed me studying his beaded strand, and he unhooked it and handed it to me. I accepted it with equal reverence and studied it, running my fingers over the well-worn beads, all beautiful and inexplicably begging me to follow them like a trail into prayer and deep commune with Aslan. Up close, I could see the tiny figure on the cross. I started, blinked, and stared again.

"By the mane," I whispered, noting how tortured he looked, and how innocent. "That's what happened to Aslan." Lifting my eyes to Kurt's, I murmured, "Who did this to him, and why? Who... who was this Son of Adam?"

Kurt gazed fondly at his rosary, then turned his attention to me. "This... Son of Adam, as you say... he is the father Adam himself, the Son of the Creator of all things in this world." He sighed and lowered his head in shame. "We... humanity... we did this to him... our..." He touched his face slightly, fingering one of the many scars there. "Our sin... though he gave his life willingly... to redeem ours." Suddenly there was joy in his face, and looking up at me he smiled.

Slowly I returned his warm smile, then gazed at the rosary for a long time in silence. At last I stirred, and taking his hand in mine I pressed the rosary into his palm and curled his two fingers around it. He gazed at it a moment longer before he hooked it again to his vest pocket.

"He's one and the same," I said with quiet decisiveness. "Aslan calls himself the Son of the Emperor over the Sea. Aslan also gave his life in... in a most innocent way and suffered a horrid death for a sin which would have otherwise brought destruction upon us all. Aslan has many names and comes in many forms, most notably a lion in the lands of Narnia, but he governs other worlds also. We - you and I both - follow him. I'm certain now that Aslan and your God are one and the same." I grinned. "That makes us brother and sister."

He gave a sharp-toothed smile. "Ja, it appears that we may be..." He sat back in a crouch, evidently thinking this over with such seriousness that I almost couldn't stay the wave of laughter that rose in me. Kurt cocked his head and looked off into the distance. After a few moments of this comically deep contemplation, he emerged into reality and nodded at me. "Ja, fraulein, I suppose it does make us brother and sister in common faith then."

I burst into gales of laughter. "Aslan is absolutely amazing," I explained between gales of mirth, "that he could cause a golden centaur and a blue teleporter to be brother and sister!"

Kurt grinned. "Ja... God works in mysterious ways, meine freundin."

I persuaded him to tell me one of his tales. Kurt was abandoned at childhood because of his appearance, which supposedly resembled that of a demon, so he was taken in and raised by a circus family. There he hid under the excuse that his appearance was just a costume. Ridiculed, hated or feared, Kurt had many narrow scrapes with death; once he'd even been tied to a stake and nearly burned to death, and I saw a twinge of pain pass over his face and knew it still bothered him. (Then again, could one ever be fully healed from a traumatic experience like that?)

As I'd noticed before, Kurt handled every curveball life threw at him with admirable courage and remarkable humility. He came to see that God made him like this for a reason, he said, and perhaps it was to help others see that one cannot judge what is only on the outside.

Kurt held out his blue hand and studied it, and it took it between both of mine, gazing at him calmly. "God never makes mistakes," I said with quiet certainty. "He did make you like this for a reason, but not for the benefit of others alone." I utterly balked at the idea that my Aslan, the one I knew who loved all his children without reserve, would cause one of them to suffer involuntarily - even for the good of all the others. Some choose to live that life, but it's always a choice: Aslan wouldn't press such a fate on anyone against their will. Freedom is one of the greatest gifts Aslan gave us.

He gave it to me time and time again, and I've taken full advantage of it. Too much so, much of the time. I'm so independent that the one thing that keeps drawing me back to Aslan is the light of love shining through his heart, which is a freedom all its own when I accept it.

I looked up at him with a little smile. "Kurt," I went on gently, "the value of suffering is underestimated no matter which world you live in. You have been given a tremendous gift, though it does not seem so, especially not by the standards of those who strive to live in comfort and acceptance, to climb social rankings until they are each kings of their own miniature realms. In their quest, they forego the exquisite delights of humility, and the chance to understand the Lord by being united in suffering with Him.

"My mother always said you could never fully understand someone unless you first walked their road in their shoes. That means sharing, to the best of your ability, everything that person has gone through. Aslan - and God - suffered for the sake of our worlds in unthinkable ways. Every scrap of suffering we in turn are granted, then, especially at the hands of our fellow men, is all the more priceless for it."

A fine mist gathered over my eyes. "But still it breaks his heart, and mine, to hear of such things. Do keep the faith, Kurt, always... and always remember that everything we do is for the sake of love."

A slow smile came over his face, and he nodded. "You are wise, fraulein... and ja... I know you speak the truth. I have come to accept myself... and I know he has a purpose for me... I only pray that I will continue to be strong." He glanced up at me. "Would you like me to show you some circus tricks?"

My face lit up. "Oh, could you?" I implored, scrambling with all the eagerness of a foal to my hooves. I let out a soft laugh. "I've become far too serious and philosophical for one night," I admitted, brushing my tears hastily into oblivion and thinking of the old, stone-faced centaurs in the Council Ring, who got that way from having far too many melancholy and wise discussions bearing great gravitas over our world. "And I should love to see something amazing!"

Kurt lit up like a torch on a winter's night. He grinned, and I half expected him to start bouncing. "Well, I was known as the Incredible Nightcrawler, after all... and I never refuse a request to perform..." He looked around. "But I think I'll need a bit more room. Hmm... outside would be best." He held out his hand to me. "Would you care to take a ride, via teleporting?"

Instantly thrilled at the prospect, I set my hand in his. I loved surprises and I sensed a big one coming up.

Kurt held my hand and moved closer, wrapping his arm around my back. He smiled slightly. "Alright, fraulein, just to warn you: I have been told that the trip can be... er... unsettling... until one gets used to it."

I nodded. He tilted his head back. Suddenly...

BAMF!

I was surrounded by smoke and darkness, so thick I could feel its friction against my skin. The smell of brimstone was overpowering. Just as suddenly...

BAMF!

I emerged from the smoke and broke away from Kurt, feeling giddy. We were in the courtyard. "Whoa!" I cried, laughing and feeling as if Angel's feathers were tickling me all over. My golden horse hide was twitching in a hundred places. I broke into a trot for no reason at all and took off bucking and kicking, reveling in the air that washed away the clinging wisps of smoke.

Kurt grinned at me. "Well, I hope that was not-" Abruptly he dropped to his knees and rolled over in the grass.

I came trotting back to him and halted before him, my giddiness subsiding. "Uh, uh, Kurt, are you alright?" I dropped to my horse knees beside him - with the usual difficulties - and studied him closely.

He rolled onto his back, holding his stomach and looking as if he were about to pass out. He managed a tight smile. "I... am... fine... meine freundin... wasn't taking... into account... one passenger... different kind..." He closed his eyes.

Panic swelled in me. All thoughts that this act might be part of the joke he meant to play on me were banished.

"Kurt!" I cried, dropping all the way down to sit in the grass. I shook his shoulder urgently, my eyes wide. "Oh this is not good... Kurt, stay with me..."

Already I was digging madly in the little satchel I carried with me, sorting through herbs and a few tiny bottles of potion until I found Lucy's cordial. I hastily uncorked it and let a drop fall into his mouth, then watched his reaction intently.

The effect on him was remarkable. He sat up instantly, blinking at me in wonder. "Gott in Himmel!" he declared to my unspeakable relief. "I suppose I should tell you," he went on, "to carry more than one passenger while teleporting makes me sick... though it passes after a few minutes. I wasn't thinking about your... er... extra mass when I teleported you. I suppose I just didn't prepare myself... but whatever you gave me, well, I'm feeling better already!"

I sat back and blew out a tremendous sigh, putting a hand to my throat. "Don't scare me like that!" I admonished him, and then I started laughing in sheer release of pent-up emotion. I couldn't take much more of this in one day. I'd met three mutants so far, and all three of them were heart attacks waiting to happen.

Tricks were next on the menu. I sat back, all foalish eagerness, as Kurt executed a standing leap, turning an aerial backflip and landing on the nearby wall. He stuck there momentarily like a giant blue spider. Just as swiftly, he leapt down, turning a pair of front-tucks before landing on the ground in a rolling ball. Then he sprang straight upwards, grasping the branch of a nearby tree. He performed a chin-up and swung himself onto it with graceful ease, then grinned down at me from his new perch.

"So good so far, fraulein?" he questioned expectantly.

I was beside myself with joyous delight, and I clapped enthusiastically. "Lovely beautiful!" I exclaimed, laughing. "I'm only green with envy, but I'd give a lot right now to be blue..."

I was teasing him, of course. Kurt caught it and laughed, teleporting - BAMF - off the branch and reappearing - BAMF - beside me. "Ah, nonsense fraulein. You've not cause to envy me!"

I burst into fresh laughter and turned to face him, or rather the location I'd heard his appearing BAMF. "There's a lot to envy! I bet children love you. You'd never get rid of the centaur foals at this rate. They'd all be tagging at your heels, crying out in little voices, 'Dis'pear agin, Unkle Kurt! Dis'pear agin!'" I broke off in more merry laughter, so much so that it was almost embarrassing. "I'm sorry... I can't get over this whole... routine of yours... just here one minute, and gone the next!"

Kurt grinned, obviously pleased. "Well I have to admit, I do use my... er... abilities to pull pranks now and then..."

I drew myself up, feeling my eyes glitter with mirth. "Oh really?!" The glint in my eyes turned from humor to mischief in the literal bat of an eyelash. I grinned broadly at him, rising slowly to my hooves. "I've never had an opponent before. Shall we declare war?"

The Incredible Nightcrawler was in his very element. "Well... I must confess, I have performed my share of pranks... should you stay here too long, you may find yourself a victim to the Blue Elf!" He teleported just for the fun of it and rematerialized laughing.

I stuck one front hoof forward and swept my arms to one side, executing yet another centaurian bow. "I would be honored to be your victim, Kurt Wagner," I declared with mock solemnity.

That set us both off again. He returned the bow. "Alright then, fraulein, you're on."

Fairly shivering with joy, I felt a sudden invasion of serenity in my inner soul when my declaration of war was accepted. This whole mansion of mutants made me feel like a foal again, and I didn't know why. Nor did I care at present, but I'd have to consider it later.

Kurt compensated for my "extra mass", as he called it, and we teleported back into the mansion. It was the perfect end to a wonderful evening.

"Auf Wiedersehen, until next we meet!" he called, and he disappeared.

BAMF!

"Auf Wiedersehen!" I called after him a second before he was gone, leaving behind only smoke and the joy he'd brought to my young-spirited heart. Abruptly I reminded myself to be _quiet_, and I smothered my mirth in my palm so I wouldn't wake the entire rest of the mansion sane enough to be safely unconscious at this hour.

I finished my forays through the mansion. I ended up in the library, flipping quickly through several fascinating volumes before the familiar mantle of warm contentment settled over me, and I felt I could sleep. As happy as I'd been in eleven years, since my parents died and left me feeling much like a grown orphan, I fairly glided off to the room where Angel was sleeping. I opened the door softly and slipped inside without a sound.

Two mutants were there, not one. My heightened night vision could barely make out their still forms in the darkness. Both were sleeping on their stomachs, both had sets of wings - though the second fellow had a slightly smaller pair than Angel possessed, and they seemed a darker shade of color. (_Hopefully not due to any accidents involving injuries, pink feathers, and the resulting necessity of feather dye,_ I thought ruefully to myself, then I had to stifle a fresh surge of laughter. Kurt Wagner's influence was slow to wear off.) This must have been Jay. Despite everything Angel said, I was eager to make his acquaintance. I was truly beginning to love every one of the mutants.

Especially... this one. I carefully tucked my long limbs, wincing when my joints creaked in the dead silence of the room, and curled up comfortably beside Angel's bed. I rested my chin on the mattress and studied his face with rapt fascination, for he was perfectly peaceful and childlike in slumber. He really did look like an angel.

_No. He really IS an angel._ Despite all I had learned about him that day, I still believed it with every fiber of my being, and I was determined to prove it to him.

_Perhaps tomorrow._ I gave a tremendous yawn, my eyelids grew heavy and lowered a thick veil of dark lashes over my sight like a theater curtain, my head drooped sideways onto the mattress, my breathing fell into a quiet rhythm, and I felt sleep overtake me at last.


	11. Caring for an Angel

There he was again - the evil specter, a Calormene slaver overlord, rising from the depths of my nightmares, his scimitar glinting in the desert moonlight. His wicked greedy smile glinted just like his weapon, and his horrid chuckling - the gloating of a spider over a fly that has blundered into a web - sent shivers down both my spines. I planted my hooves to face him, my twin swords crossed at the tips and my whole being charged with adrenaline as I stared death in the eye.

Because I would not be taken alive. If I lost this battle, I would not be subdued. He would have to kill me.

I whipped my swords backwards and then whirled them in a blinding figure-eight as my nemesis attacked me in a swirl of black cape and silver steel. We clashed. I locked his blade between both of mine. With a fierce holler, I reared up and slammed my front hooves into his chest, sending him staggering into the stand. He recovered his feet almost instantly and came at me, wielding his scimitar with deadly precision, and I felt him seeking for a weakness. Baring my teeth, I _snarled_ like an angry lioness and unleashed a flurry of blows on him that left him reeling in retreat. I stood back and challenged him with my blazing eyes. _Find my weakness, you fool. I dare you._

His eyes were equally dark with anger. It was no longer a matter of capturing me, it was a matter of defeating me for pride's sake. Good, I thought; I had no desire to be thrust into slavery and sold to the Tisroc to be displayed in a cage as some kind of exotic animal. As long as his pride was at stake, I stood a good chance of getting my wish. We circled each other, menacing each other with our weapons in ritual posturing. I waited for him to make the first move.

He did. He jabbed forward at my midsection, and I slammed one sword against his blade, then hurricaned around to bring my other sword hard on his forearm. He yelled out in pain, his hand clenched over a bleeding cut, and his scimitar flew off and landed with a soft puff in the sand several feet away. Streaks of blood dripped over his fingers as I advanced on my weaponless would-be captor. He stumbled backwards and tripped, falling with a similar soft puff in the sand, staring up at me as I came over him, the tip of my sword aimed at his throat.

He was done for and he knew it. But there was no fear in his black eyes - only bitter, ugly hatred towards me. I hesitated, torn between finishing him now or letting him go - knowing full well that he'd surely return to haunt me some other dark night, bent on capturing a rare centaur. A cold shiver ran through me as the fire of battle faded.

Suddenly he grabbed my blade in a desperate bid for his life and wrenched it from my hand, torquing my wrist and leaving my hand stinging. I cried out and reared backwards. He rolled away...

But I was too fast for him. I charged after him. With an animalistic roar, I brought my sword in a wide arc and came down, thrusting the point into Angel's carpet.

I blinked and looked around in complete disorientation. I was in Angel's room, and it was morning.

I should have known it was a dream: Motivations in dreams are different, and all my life I have never killed even an enemy in cold blood - no matter what they've done to me. I have killed, many times. But my opponents have always died with their weapons in their hands, facing me like warriors.

There was a large slice in the wall, evidence of my epic battle, and the blanket I had been wearing now lay in a crumpled ball, thrown off in the heat of the moment. I was alone. Both beds were a mess of rumpled sheets and skewed pillows, dusted lightly with feathers. Jay's feathers _were_ a dark shade of red, I noted absently as I sheathed my weaponry.

I rubbed a hand over my face. _What an awful night_, I moaned mentally as I sank numbly to the floor. I could hear stirring in the bathroom and water running. Angel was close by, judging by the sound of great wings flapping and - I imagined - water droplets flying everywhere. That was some small comfort. But, I thought, shooting a sullen glare up to the new cut arcing over Angel's dresser, that would be a thing of the past once he noticed my idea of fine art. I had no intention of lying to Angel about its origin, which left me entirely defenseless and completely at his mercy. He'd probably kick me out of his room and tell me how much he regretted extending the offer in the first place. Maybe he'd even grow angry before I had a chance to explain and demand to know if this was what centaurs considered gratefulness to gracious hosts...

I put a hand to my tightening throat. I felt I was going to cry. The _last_ thing I ever wanted was to cause Angel trouble.

Miserably I picked up _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ and began where I'd left off the night before. Fairly quickly, I was absorbed in the genius of Oscar Wilde's literary prowess - how he wove his words, and the depth of character he portrayed in his people. It was an amazing legend, this _Picture of Dorian Gray_. I wondered if the innocent Dorian Gray and the arrogant Lord Henry Wotton and the artist Basil Hallward, who was entirely devoted to his art, had truly lived at one time. Perhaps this story wasn't fabricated. I would have to ask Angel later.

I was scowling at Lord Henry's view on marriage - "_Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last for ever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer._"

Oh! Mental fury consumed me. Is _that_ all my parents had then, in Lord Henry's eyes, was merely a lifelong caprice?! But of course I was a woman, so in Lord Henry's eyes, of course I would have that flawed viewpoint. But if I could have had a few moments with him, face to face, I could have told him a thing or two, shod in iron-clad logic, and proved him wrong! I paused my reading to engage in furious argument of thought with Lord Henry when I was interrupted.

"Mornin'. How'd you sleep?"

I started violently, reaching for my sword hilt. Then I relaxed: It was only Angel. Then I stiffened: He was standing at the doorway of the bathroom with dripping feathers, wearing only a white towel wrapped around his waist. He was muscular enough to rival many of the male centaurs and _very_ good-looking. Blushing furiously, I quickly turned away.

"Not terribly," I hedged, running a finger down the side of a page and garnering a papercut. With a wince, I sucked my fingertip absently. "But... well... I'll tell you later. Would you like me to step outside?"

"Not at all," he replied, and I stole a glance at him. He seemed faintly amused by my embarrassed reaction.

_What else did you expect?_ I wondered but dared not ask him. I reverted to studiously ignoring him.

"You're fine. Just keep your attention on old Dorian for a couple minutes and I'll let you know when you can look around again," he was saying. There was a slight pause. Instinctively I knew why and cringed, prepared for the worst. And it came. "And jeez, what are you so on edge for? Calm yourself, dear. I don't need any more of your lovely... 'decorations'."

_What?! That's it?!_ I pulled my head out of my mental turtle shell and I almost turned around to smile gratefully at him before I remembered myself, and I laughed in sheer relief at _Dorian Gray_ instead. Flushing again, I kept my gaze fixed solidly on my book, but I didn't see any of the letters. I heard him scuffling around near the closet, and a moment later he cleared his throat. I looked up to find him standing close, wearing designer jeans and a very fine burgundy shirt, and he looked a little ashamed. "Um, hey... Can you get these for me?" he asked meekly, turning his back to reveal a multitude of unclosed buttons that were supposed to secure his shirt beneath his wings.

Delighted, I set down _Dorian Gray_ and rose to my hooves. "Of course!" But I was too tall for the process to be comfortable, so I touched my choker and shifted into my shorter human form before reaching towards the back of his shirt - and paused to ball my fists and willed myself to stop shaking. There was a lot to shake about: Angel wasn't angry with me, and - wonder of wonders - he was letting me take care of him again! I couldn't tell him that though. I valued the opportunity too much to jeopardize it with hasty words. I took the crisp fabric between my fingers and began carefully fastening buttons, one by one.

He smelled good. The scent of freshly-washed feathers was surprisingly nice, like the aftermath of a spring rainstorm in the Narnian lowlands.

"I'm awfully sorry about the wall," I said, but I was smiling. I should have expected this kindness from Angel. "I have nightmares sometimes. That's what happens when you spend a few years in a desert populated by cruel slavers. Hard to believe," I jested, "but I had enemies. Some of those enemies have made it into my dreams. I'm afraid I was trying to take out one of the overlords permanently when your wall leaped into my way." I added seriously, "I'll do anything you ask of me to fix it, and maybe I won't sleep while wearing my swords, in case the sudden uncontrollable urge to sculpt something at midnight comes over me again."

He didn't chuckle. There was a frown in his voice and he answered me absently, but I didn't get the impression he was in any way upset with me, but rather with something beyond my realm of thought. "Eh, don't worry about the wall. There are probably a hundred mutants here who could fix it within seconds, so I'll just go find one of them later on. No rush. But yeah, maybe put your swords away from now on... I don't want to take the place of one of your overlords the next time you have a bad dream."

Suddenly I gave a little cry of shock when he drew his wings close and mashed me against his back. _Was this his way of threatening me?!_ After the initial surprise, mirth shook my shoulders. "I... won't... stab you... I promise," I choked out in between fits of muffled giggles, thinking the reason he did that was to teasingly extract such a promise from me and thus sleep in peace on future nights. "I promise!" I cried again, laughing.

He released me without a word. I gave him a warm backwards squeeze and went back to buttoning his shirt. He was thinking about something and remained silent. So was I, for awhile.

"This is a nice color on you," I said at length, quietly. "Burgundy is my second favorite color, next to sapphire blue. It goes nicely with your hair - kind of like gold and wine." I smiled at my own comparison.

He stirred as if waking from his thoughts. "Oh, thanks. Sapphire blue is my favorite color too, but I wear too much of it. Besides, sometimes it's more fun to be different."

I definitely agreed with that. But the close proximity of his wings reminded me of my foray to the library the night before, and I had to clear that up immediately. I wasn't looking forward to it though.

"By the way," I began, still gently buttoning his shirt, "do you ever glow or disappear, or appear without warning, Angel? Or," I added thoughtfully, "sing in a choir?"

His head turned suddenly, and he glanced over his shoulder at me, his blue eyes mirroring startled puzzlement. "I'm sorry: What? Do I _what?_ No, not that I know of... Why do you ask?" He continued watching me eagerly, his expression one of extreme curiosity.

I chuckled and met his gaze. My fingers fastened the the last button. "You're an imposter."

He turned to face me and gave me a blank look.

Abruptly I realized he didn't understand what I was getting at. I set a gentle hand on his forearm. "I don't care if you are an imposter, Angel," I reassured him quietly, looking up at him seriously. "You could have told me. I'd have found out eventually, poking around the library - which I did last night, after I met Logan and Kurt." A slight smile warmed my features at the mention of their names. Then I returned to the subject at hand. "But while I was in the library, I found a few volumes with your name on them, and I decided to do some reading on you."

Abruptly I stopped. _How presumptuous,_ I chided myself, and I flushed. I had simply been curious - insatiably curious - at the time and hadn't given it a second thought, until now. Now, telling Angel about it face to face, it seemed annoyingly nosy. I found my own actions reprehensible. "Forgive me for taking such liberties," I said upon arriving at that sad conclusion. When it didn't seem to bother him so much, I was glad, and I continued. "But I found out that the real Angel is very different from you - in many ways, not just the... the glowing and the disappearing and the singing in a choir. Though he did look like you," I added, my gaze rising to his golden hair.

Still he said nothing. He looked, if anything, hopelessly bewildered.

_Maybe he's afraid of me,_ I thought - an awful concept if there ever was one. It didn't make any sense why he'd lie on this small point when he'd been brutally honest with me about every other aspect of his life, unless he were determined to protect this secret at all costs. Either way, I wasn't upset with him, and I wanted him to know it.

Besides that, he'd saved my life.

I smiled at him. "I don't care who you really are, Angel," I added sincerely. "You'll always be an angel named Angel to me."

Suddenly his blank stare gave way to infectious boyish laughter. My turn to stare blankly at _him_. I waited impatiently for his mirth to subside.

"Uh... okay..." He was slow to recover, but it was good to see him grinning. "I see I've made a mistake in assuming a Narnian would know of my namesake. You see... Those angels you read about in the library? I'm not like them. But our similarities led to my nickname, which is... Angel."

The further explanation that followed was very enlightening. I had already discovered much about angels, thanks to the Professor's thorough archives: Angels were assistants of God's... well, Aslan actually. Strange then that I'd never heard of them. I'd have to ask Aslan about it later.

Angel's real name is Warren Kenneth Worthington III. I was impressed with the "third" part of that title, since it reminded me of a certain French monarch I'd recently dealt with. The way Angel - or Warren - carried himself reminded me of a prince, sometimes. He could put on that same unfailingly polite front and he was highly conscious of his public image. I wondered why. I also wondered why he dared drop his guard around me. The fact that he did was... a gift beyond price. I cannot tell you how honored I feel, strange as it may seem.

He also said he's the heir of Worthington Industries and will inherit this kingdom when his father dies. So maybe he is a prince. It is puzzling to me, then, that nobody refers to him as "your majesty" or pays him any special respects, save that everyone knows him and a majority of the women fall all over themselves around him in a most annoying fashion. I see it just when we walk down the mansion hallway. Why he puts up with it, I don't know. Something tells me that he's just being polite - at least some of the time, though he does appreciate the attention and the affirmation it gives him. I think it helps him feel better about being a mutant.

But these women don't have Angel's best interests in mind. Any fool could see through their shallow selfish motives. This unladylike behavior furthers my suspicion that Angel is royalty, which would completely explain why desperate women do all they can to capture him. I fervently hope this fate doesn't befall Angel. He deserves so much better than that.

Maybe Angel doesn't want people kneeling to him or calling him by special titles. Maybe he wants to be treated... normal, for a change. If this is true, it's further testament to his amazing humility. That, coupled with the fact that he doesn't wield his power unnecessarily, lead me to that conclusion. I wonder what he did with those men who shot him in the wing: But my guess is nothing. I think he simply let them go. I intend to ask him about it at some point.

I find it interesting that he prefers to be called Angel over Warren, as I hide Zephina behind the name of Violar. I haven't told him my real name yet. But I intend to do that also, soon.

Angel had rather an amazing tale attached to the acquisition of his nickname - much more intense and tragic than mine. When his wings first grew in, he'd done everything he could to hide them until there was a terrible fire. Unwilling to stand by while his schoolmates needed help, Angel donned a blonde wig for a disguise and flew out in his nightgown to save them. Rumors immediately circulated all over that a real angel had arrived to spare the kids from certain death. They called it a miracle and flooded the papers and the airwaves in America with the incredible story.

Angel's eyes lost their sparkle and he looked like he wanted to end his tale there, but when he saw how interested I was, he reluctantly went on.

Much later, when the world discovered the "truth" about him, they slammed him for perpetuating what they regarded as a cruel hoax. Religious groups everywhere were especially hard on him, much to my utter dismay. They lifted him up as a shining symbol of hope and heroism, and then, when they found out who'd been wearing the wig, they condemned him without remorse. Followers of Aslan caused him the most trouble, and they were the ones who'd made the mistake in the first place! In Angel's own words, it was as if his very existence offended them. He said that with a great deal of pain, and it brought a vehement protest laced with solid logic from me, which he halfheartedly acknowledged. I realized that Angel thinks there is truth in what they believe - and that hurt. Badly. This is who Aslan made him to be...

I felt the familiar determination to change something for Angel building inside me. If it was the last thing I'd do, I'd prove to him that not all followers of Aslan are prone to hatred, especially on account of mistaken identity. Those who follow Aslan - God - are not perfect, but chasing perfection, and often falling short. I fall short so much of the time that if I chased perfection for perfection's sake, and not for love of Aslan, I'd have given up a long time ago. So I don't really blame those people for their shortcomings, but they did hurt Angel. Maybe, just maybe, Aslan put me in his path to heal that wound... among others.

I had to be ready for anything. I felt almost ready for anything when I took his arm and he led me to the kitchen, where we gathered breakfast in a basket and went out to the courtyard and stepped into a beautiful morning of pale skies. The moment we were free of the confines of the indoors, Angel and I both breathed a great sigh of relief, reveling in being under open skies again.

Little did I know how very momentous that breakfast would prove. At the time, I was inwardly rejoicing that my worries from the night before were completely unfounded. We fell into step from where we'd left off the night before. Angel was still letting me take care of him. It wasn't just a moment of weakness, where he was forced to rely on me as a fragile link between life or death: It was his nature.

He really is an angel.

May you also be blessed someday with the privilege of caring for an angel.


	12. Behind the Curtain

When Angel straightened his quilt, fluffed his pillow, and made his bed in a particularly gratifying demonstration of fastidiousness, he gathered up a few loose feathers he'd molted. He blamed this entirely on stress due to Jay, of course. Privately I considered being shot through the wing a much greater stress than having a roommate, but I didn't bother challenging him on that point.

Then again, Angel might've had a point. Angel was used to being a hero, and danger came with the package. This wasn't the first time he'd had a near brush with death. But it was the first time he'd had a roommate. Maybe rooming with someone was a whole other animal.

When I couldn't resist anymore, I tugged at one of the feathers he was holding. "Mind if I keep this, Angel?"

He held it out to me with one of his signature friendly smiles. "Sure, I don't mind."

I couldn't hide my delight when I accepted it. Tilting my head to one side, I immediately twined it in the dark hair near my right ear. That's when I caught him watching me. I blushed.

"Centaur tradition," I said quickly with an overbright smile. It wasn't, exactly: It's MY tradition, and I'm a centaur, and that makes it centaur tradition. But I'd never heard of this custom in the Council Ring and I doubt it'll become popular.

Angel was predictably baffled. He looked at me curiously, but he had too much good taste to press me on a subject I wasn't readily forthcoming about. He drew himself up. "Right. Well, let's get going." And we were off to the kitchen.

Angel and I were both in very interesting moods that morning. It was actually a little uncomfortable for me, though Angel was unfailingly polite; so the discomfort was entirely my fault. It didn't help that I was still feeling kind of guilty about that nasty slice in his wall either.

Angel was telling me, haltingly and somewhat reluctantly, choice tidbits about his past and his father. It was all difficult to grapple with, but I sensed him steering away from the most sensitive subjects, and he went through a number of expressions ranging from pain to self-condemnation. What bothered me the most was that the things he _did_ reveal to me were so awful and downright inhuman that it was hardly fathomable for his life to have gotten worse, and that he could still manage to smile and be as charming and caring about other people as he was.

In his place, I'd have left society behind and gone to live somewhere deep in the wilderness as a sort of centaur hermit. A life of loneliness beat the one Angel was describing any day.

Meanwhile I had been mentally shielding myself from him - I wasn't sure how to deal with him, exactly. When he needed my help patching his wings or buttoning his shirts, he allowed me close to him. But I didn't know where he'd draw the line. The last thing I wanted was to overstep my bounds. Not knowing where forbidden territory lie was actually frightening. Especially since I sensed no danger from him - meaning that no matter how far I went, even if I completely offended him, he wasn't going to hurt me emotionally. So I was taking greater and greater chances.

But what if I was wrong? What if there lay a sleeping volcano inside him, and I caused an eruption?

Though my heart told me it wasn't going to happen, logic loudly disagreed. Rules are rules in life, and everyone has a core of secrets and darkness they guard with their last ounce of strength. It's the part of a person no one wants displayed because it is so twisted and ugly and deformed that surely, _surely_, there isn't a soul alive who'd love them if it were to be revealed.

Most people set up a stage curtain which no one is supposed to penetrate, where they can hide all the clutter and junk and baggage and broken pasts; and then they stand out on that stage and smile and sing and dance and pretend the curtain isn't really there at all. It's all a costumed act, of course - scripted and rehearsed in hopes of pleasing the audience and earning accolades for your performance. Ignore those_ KEEP OUT_ signs and step behind that curtain, and you'll find yourself in a haunted ghost town, and when you're discovered wandering those darkened hallways, prying where you shouldn't be, a red-eyed dragon will rise from the abandoned rubble and attack you with intent to kill. Because it's infinitely better to reject_ first _than to be rejected, since then you won't be able to hide the truth from yourself anymore, now that another person knows: You're not perfect. You have grave faults. And nothing, _nothing_ will ever truly erase the fact that you're just not good enough.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is similar to how I operate - I definitely have a curtain. Though no one has yet ventured that deeply inside my soul, so I have no idea how I'll react if and when they do. That's rather terrifying, actually. I don't cry easily when I have company. Those who don't cry tend to wound those who cause them pain and cry harder, later. I haven't done that, but again, no one has _truly_ seen who and what I am. Even I don't know.

I suppose my response will depend on whether or not I feel threatened.

I must say, Angel puts on an impressive show. I'd be throwing roses and cheering with the crowd if I hadn't gotten close enough to see a crack in the curtain and catch a glimpse of what's really inside of him. What I saw was dreadful: Shattered old items covered in cobwebs and dust, but I also saw a faint glimmer, as it were, of jewels and faded paintings waiting to be restored. And suddenly I knew that behind that curtain lay treasures beyond worth, if only...

If only someone would take the time to look. If only someone would help him sort through his life. If only someone would piece together his broken heart. If only he could know love.

If only... if only.

Angel has a bit of an inferiority complex, so he feels he deserves the prejudice and injustice that has dogged his steps all his life. What's nice about this is that he's remained humble. Being wealthy and powerful and a sort of urban prince hasn't gone to his head. Nor has his own undeniable masculine beauty - greatly enhanced by his wings. Even the attention he pretends to so thoroughly enjoy - even expect and _deserve_ - he doesn't _truly_ believe in. Compliments and praise ring hollow in his ears.

But he's _too _humble. He's _too_ in touch with that inner core. He's very vulnerable. I had an awful feeling that if I wanted to, I could trample all over him, and he'd let me without making any effort to stop me. And then he'd justify MY actions as part of his just desserts.

All this was running through my mind, so I laughed lightheartedly and engaged him in meaningless chatter, for the most part, even when we were discussing mutants and angels and life. I shied away from the more serious topics. But it was an elaborate facade. Despite my outward attitude, inside I was in dreadful turmoil.

Alright... I admit it. I was scared; really and truly scared. Not for myself, either: For him.

Aside from that though, it was great to hear him laugh. Angel has a wonderful laugh and he doesn't use it enough. He likes to tease and to _be_ teased, and I would have done so more, except for one thing: I had a growing desire to step behind that curtain; to lay siege to the castle where he was being held prisoner and set him free so he could truly spread his wings and take flight off those dark parapets.

I know what it's like to live as a captive in my own heart, and now that I'm on the other side of those walls, it _kills_ me to see him suffering - when he deserves it far less than I did. Desperate to fly, yet too afraid of what might happen if he did... I sensed those emotions as strongly as if they were my own. He was fighting a war inside. He wanted to be free, so badly, but he was measuring the cost; and the conflict was tearing him apart. He was handling it well enough, but time was like a great ocean to wear down the limestone cliffs of one's resistance. Eventually those cliffs would give way and tumble and crash into the sea in a mighty splash of tears.

Suddenly I couldn't stand by and do nothing. Not when I could do _something_. More and more, I laid aside my fear of hurting him - and _being_ hurt - and at some point I made up my mind to take the risk and leap onto the stage and throw back that curtain.

But I paused with my hand on the thick velvet and looked the actor straight in the eyes. I wasn't going to do this without his permission, or his participation. I needed him to show me around back there, to take me to those hidden corners. So I shifted my entire demeanor to something far softer than my usual outward charade. I took the risk that he might even see me as weak. To create a safe environment in which to be vulnerable, I had to first be vulnerable with him. But oh, it was hard. I remembered too well the scars from the _last_ time I tried to be vulnerable with someone. The only defense I had against overwhelming fear in my precarious position was complete selfless focus on Angel. I reached out to him. And I set about _persuading_ him.

I thought for sure I was doomed to failure when we arrived in the kitchen. I went into the pantry, which was horribly disorganized, and rummaged around until I had gathered a basket, a few large-sized party napkins - and that's when I started chuckling to myself. There was a remarkably large stash of Dr. Pepper, a beverage the blue teleporter is particularly fond of, and a little stack of Swiss chocolate. I left the drinks alone, but I slipped two chocolate bars into my basket. On my way out I upset a box that was balancing unsteadily on the shelf. There was a tremendous cardboard crash as the contents spilled everywhere. I craned my head and squinted to read the type on small plastic-wrapped rectangles in the dark: _What in Bergdale is 'mick-row-waveable' popcorn?!_

I emerged into the light of the kitchen, basket in hand and looking sheepish. I explained the disaster I'd caused. _Two catastrophes in one morning,_ I thought ruefully, annoyed with myself. _Not bad, Violar. Keep it up and you'll be heading back to Narnia before nightfall._

Ever the gentleman, Angel moved toward the pantry and waited until I had cleared it. "Don't worry about the popcorn. I've got it. And uh..." He eyed my basket. "You can toss in some... um..." He thought over his options. "Oreos. And maybe a beer. I'm feeling indulgent today."

I wrinkled my nose a little at his request, but I didn't protest. Angel disappeared into the pantry and I retrieved a cold beer from the fridge, tucking it in the basket and trying not to make a face. Beer, with breakfast? It seemed a lousy idea to me, but we weren't exactly having traditional breakfast, either: I picked four boxes of Chinese takeout from among the various items reposing on the refrigerator shelves and a SOBE for myself. Oreos were easy to identify, thanks to a giant word emblazoned across a crackly blue plastic package. Upon closer inspection, I decided Oreos might be some kind of cookie.

Once I had all that packed, along with some wrapped silverware, I took the basket on my arm and waited for Angel. After awhile, running the soft feather absently between my fingers reminded me of the trouble Angel sometimes had with his enormous wings in small spaces. Leaning sideways to peer inside the open door, I called, "Do you need help in there, or are you getting it alright?"

He stepped so suddenly into the doorway that I fell back a step, and he wore a friendly - and forced - smile as he folded his wings against his back to fit through the doorway. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

Stunned into sobriety, I stared at him and studied his expression, gazing wistfully into his blue eyes. That was the hardest he'd pushed me away so far, and it was at a moment when I least expected it. It was then that I understood: He'd spent a moment in the darkness, in _hiding_. From me. Not necessarily because I was me (or at least I sure hoped not, though the possibility definitely existed), but because he just wanted to get away and be alone. I suppose having his sanctuary invaded by Jay made his privacy, or what little of it the popular mutant had, ever more scarce.

Still, it stung. And it worried me, especially in light of my mission. Was he going to keep me at arm's length? Would he decide to trust me?

When he asked if he wanted me to heat up the food via "microwave" rather than an open fire, I turned my back on him so he wouldn't see me frowning and disturbed. I was going to get myself in trouble, no question about it. As I withdrew boxes of Chinese food from the basket, I weighed my options and the risk I was about to take. Was it really worth it?

Rearranging the boxes into a tall stack, I thought of Angel's character - and what I had seen of it so far. _It's not fair,_ I said to myself, removing two boxes from the tipsy stack. Then again, he hadn't specifically _asked_ me to help him. Should I wait until he did?

_No_, I decided, setting the boxes in a triangle and topping the pyramid with the fourth and final box. _This could be my only chance. I've GOT to take it. He does deserve it._

I stood back and surveyed my work, but I didn't really see it. This was going to hurt like anything, but it was going to hurt _both_ of us. At least he wouldn't have to face... whatever secrets he had... alone.

Finally I turned to Angel, not meeting his eyes. "All I want is heat, really," I answered indifferently. "If a 'microwave' will accomplish that, then by all means, please." I waved a hand at the odd formation of takeout boxes. And put on a friendly smile that must have looked remarkably like his.

Angel gave me a very similar bemused look and frowned, shifting his wings against his back in a gesture I recognized as uncertain worry. He'd upset me, he knew... but he didn't know _how_. And again his impeccable manners prevailed: He said nothing about it and instead went to work on _me_, giving my shoulder a little pat and nudging me out of the way so he could get to the food.

A little thrill of hope shot through me. I _wasn't_ wrong about Angel. I couldn't be! My smile became genuine and I tried to communicate, without words, that everything was alright. I fully intended to talk to him about this... _after_ we were in the courtyard. But not now. Someone might wander into the kitchen at anytime, and mansion walls had ears.

I almost felt like laughing at him when he plucked a box from my pretty pyramid and put on another show. "Oh yes, the microwave will do fine, I assure you. Watch and learn."

He briefly flipped open the box and surveyed the contents, then shrugged and stuck it in that black rectangular contraption on the counter. He hit a button marked "Quick Start" and with a low hum, the little carton began going around in circles as if it were on a carousel. I peered through the microwave window and watched, completely fascinated.

_Ding_! I jumped back. The microwave shut itself off. Angel chuckled and popped the door loose, then opened the box to set free a profusion of mouthwatering aromas. Angel nodded his approval and gained a good whiff of chow mein. "Perfect."

While he warmed up the other three boxes of food, I moved forward to inhale the chow mein also. It smelled delicious! I rolled my eyes heavenward, a rapturous smile on my lips. "Wow, Angel. It _is_ perfect... and I'm starving."

Angel took the basket in his arms and headed for the outdoors. Immediately I followed him. Since his hands and arms were occupied, I lightly set my hand on one of his wings and was surprised when he automatically twitched it away. He looked back at me, relaxed, and gave me his wing again.

Besides being curious as to whether he actually had feeling in his feathers, I warmed all over. He trusted me with his delicate wings - his pride, his beauty, his joy, his key to freedom. His blessing and his curse. If he trusted me with his wings, there was no telling what _else_ he might trust me with.

I couldn't wait to find out.


	13. When Angels Cry

Breakfast was full of danger and intrigue. There were no flying arrows or clashing swords, but something far worse: A delicate verbal dance I hoped would lead to a deeper trust and... and tears.

That's awful, isn't it? To wish for someone to cry so badly that every fiber of your being is attuned to their every word; constantly seeking for a weakness, probing for a crack in the walls? But that's exactly what I found myself doing this fair morning when Angel and I settled ourselves in a corner of the empty courtyard, near the pathway leading to the stablehouse. The sharp scents of autumn tingled in the air: Dead leaves and damp earth and the pungent odors of plant decay, which all heralded the approach of winter.

I felt as if I were watching Angel without watching him: Even as I spread the giant napkins into a makeshift tablecloth, I was aware of his every move, his every expression, his every mood shift. Like a great cat ready to pounce the moment its winged prey lowers its guard, I was _watching_ him.

Failure was no longer an option. I refused to consider the consequences if I lost this gamble, because the complete devastation of crashing and burning I had known before. I was walking a tightrope over a canyon, and if I looked down on those dizzying heights, even once, I was done for.

Torn between guilt and determination - I still wasn't sure how happy Angel would be if he knew what I was doing - I set out the heated breakfast foods and rolled silverware. I purposely left the Oreos buried in the basket. In an attempt to lighten the mood - MY mood, actually - I let my fingers brush the crackling plastic, then glanced sideways at Angel and grinned playfully.

"Dessert," I said in the same firm tone my mother adopted around an overeager cookie thief of a centaur foal once, long ago, in a glade far away from the cultured civilization of New York. The girl I had once been seemed as far away as the memory. Sometimes I wondered if she was lost altogether...

Out of habit I took Angel's hand in mine, turned my gaze skywards, and implored all of heaven. "Aslan, thank you for this beautiful morning. Thank you for the gift of life. We pray that you'll watch over our friends today while they face the world; keep them safe and be with them in everything they do. Bless this wonderful food, and thank you for providing it."

I hesitated. My heart was loaded with a thousand unspoken prayers, but I hadn't the faintest idea how to tactfully voice them. Before I could even try, Angel beat me to the punch. "Amen."

Whatever that meant. Obviously it was a conclusion to prayer, and I smiled, thankful for the brief respite.

_Relax, Violar... just breathe. Take your time on this._

Seconds after that blessed word passed Angel's lips, those same lips condemned to the fiery depths an errant packet of sauce that doused his food too liberally in excessive flavor. The expletive was a shock, but I had to laugh. Angel amuses me to no end.

He seemed equally amused. "If that word has such an effect on you, be glad you're not around when I yell at Jay," he said.

"I imagine you can give breath to some particularly colorful language, Angel," I replied, "but it surprised me that too much sauce on your meal could achieve the same result."

Laughing, I seized a fork. I was _beyond_ famished: A whole day with only a quick graze in the courtyard the night before had left me ravenous beyond protocol. With shaking fingers I all but tore the first carton open and dug in: Orange chicken. I closed my eyes with a soft moan of delight: _Mmm... Aslan, this is delicious... _

My mouth was too occupied for words until half the box of orange chicken had vanished without a trace. Once my mind surfaced from hungry oblivion, I looked over and found Angel deep in contemplation over his own meal. It was almost laughable, how delightfully meticulous he was being in spicing everything just right, and keeping the spring rolls separate from the contrasting delicate flavor of the chow mein. It would have been mesmerizing, except mischief rose in me: I leaned over and skewered a bite of his peking pork, laughing unabashedly at him as I munched my prize.

He gave me a beautiful smile. "Go ahead, take absolutely anything you like. This is all for sharing." Then he reached over and speared some orange chicken. "See?" He winked and placed the bite in his mouth.

I laughed at Angel's response and had to cover my mouth to keep from losing the little chunk of pork I had so nefariously obtained. Still giggling, I rolled my legs to one side, braced my hand in the grass, and leaning over Angel I stabbed a forkful of chow mein.

"Breakfast in the Council Ring is rarely this much fun," I told him in between two chews and a gulp. "I never termed it 'Feasting with the Ancients' for no reason." Lowering my voice, I added conspiratorially, "Don't tell them I said that. You're the only one who knows." Then I pushed the carton of orange chicken into more of a neutral sharing position and proceeded to methodically sample each different item. They were all remarkable, in their own way: Some of them have what I've privately termed "darker flavors", which is no doubt due to soy sauce. The Chinese have a beautifully varied palette of tastes, apparently.

_Pop_. Glancing back to see what Angel was up to this time, I observed him wielding a bottle opener and cramming it into his overstuffed wallet, which was bulging almost to the point of being round. I laughed aloud when he stuffed that ridiculously fat wallet into his back jeans pocket, then bounced up and down to squish it back down. I never dreamed anyone could mash so many things into something that size. It defies the laws of physics! Angel keeps an unbelievable collection of stuff in that wallet and brings it with him everywhere.

I ate much faster than Angel did, just because I was so very starved. But I observed, with a slight blush of embarrassment, that while I shoveled sustenance down by the forkload, Angel never once set aside his impeccable manners. He ate like a prince. It was actually neat to watch him - which I did, and I copied his own example and slowed my pace of consumption. I didn't really want indigestion, anyway.

All the while, we spoke of a great many things. In between lighthearted banter - which was a great deal of fun, with a verbal sparring partner as witty as Angel - we talked of life in the middle of the human-mutant highway, and of what was normal and what was not; and how relative the term "normal" really was. It all depended on perception. And, of course, "normal" had different definitions for humans and mutants.

At some point, I set aside fear and trepidation and simply enjoyed Angel's company. It was easier for me once I did. Letting go of my resolution released me to be more myself, and to have fun while I was at it. And, oddly enough, I was still considering points on Angel's character, all with intent to complete my mission; but I wasn't in any hurry.

I've tried to minister to people before. In those cases, I felt almost... a panic, a need to change faults in their characters _immediately_ before they spiraled down to disaster. It was different with Angel - because Angel was different. He's stronger than he knows, and there is an inherent charm about him that isn't part of his formal upbringing. Charm can be learned, but Angel's charm is unique and genuine. In my deepest heart of hearts, I felt as if he would turn out alright, with or without my influence.

Why? Because he wants to get better and he wants to be free. Aslan never ignores heart pleas such as those. I am living proof of that.

Seeing that we were nearly done with the main course, I retrieved the Oreos from the basket and, after much wrestling with the crackling material, I managed to tear open the bag. I pulled out the plastic tray of cookies and set it on the napkins, then lowered my finger to sidetrack a marching ant soldier stumbling across the makeshift tablecloth. Carrying the little black insect carefully on my nail, I deposited him on the grass to the side, adding a puff of air to persuade him to climb off. The ant seemed rather put-out so, to placate him, I set a small chunk of orange peel directly in his path and smiled a little when the ant perked up and clambered all over his treat, then hurried off to inform his clan of his magnificent find.

Angel was watching this exchange with a smile. "You know, if you continue treating the ants that well, we're going to end up with a lot of them as company."

I laughed freely, brushing a large section of my thick mane over my shoulder. It wasn't really a mane, but I mentally referred to it as such because there was so much of it. I leaned my hands back in the dewy grass and looked up at the opaline sky. It was better to say nothing about my shift of mood when Angel came out of the pantry, I decided - at least for the time being. Right now I was enjoying myself, and no matter what my kin might think about it, I had no intention of being serious if I could help it. They weren't around to scorn me and besides, I looked like a Daughter of Eve. As long as I looked like one, I could certainly act like one. With a self-satisfied nod, I smiled to myself.

Then I followed Angel's gaze down into the grass. "Too late," I said simply and without remorse, watching an entire swarm of excited ants engulf the orange peel. I extracted more orange peel from the carton and set it in the grass. "No fighting," I admonished them. "There's plenty for everyone."

Angel was laughing again, and I joined him. It was all foolish fun. I was feeling remarkably carefree, even in the face of what I hoped to accomplish - and still greatly feared. But even warriors can laugh before a battle.

I asked him if he could feel everything that touched his feathers, since my curiosity was piqued from earlier, and I received an incredibly fascinating demonstration involving my blouse sleeve. Angel set aside his spring roll, wiped his hands carefully on a napkin, then tugged on my sleeve and explained that the sensation was similar to hair: The hair itself had no feeling, but if hair were to be pulled, ouch. Feathers, connected to the main wingbone, were the same way.

When Angel revealed that his feathers had been intentionally pulled out before, I cringed and subsequently grew angry with any lout who would dare lay a finger on those beautiful feathers I'd had a hand in repairing.

My gaze softened. They _were_ beautiful feathers. I brushed my fingers delicately along the main wingbone, and Angel abandoned his spring roll again and closed his eyes, looking calm and satiated. Aware then that he was thoroughly enjoying having his wing stroked, I shifted closer and continued running my palm over it. The white down was softer than powdered sugar, which is the fluffiest substance I've ever encountered - before Angel's wings. The longer feathers were like velvet, but smooth as silk.

There's nothing else like them. Amazing, that such wonderful wings could cause so much trouble and controversy. I suspected jealousy and fear were two of the greatest motivations behind anti-mutant sentiments, and since I think that everyone, deep down, would actually _like_ to fly, if they were honest enough to admit it, there had to be a tremendous amount of envy directed towards Warren Worthington III, who had been given the gift of flight without asking.

With my free hand, I pulled an Oreo from the tray and nibbled at it until it met with my approval. Then I gazed at Angel for a long moment before daring to ask for another flight - but after sunset. I wanted to see the stars and watch the moon rise, and feel the chill of the night air. I'd been dreaming of it since last night: I couldn't imagine any experience more glorious.

Angel shook his head at the ants, still grinning, then met my gaze. "At night? Yeah, absolutely. I don't mind at all." I noticed then that he wasn't eating: He was watching me sample Oreos, but the crumbling spring roll was falling apart in his fingers.

By that time I was eyeing his beer. "Could I try a sip of that?" I asked cautiously, already pulling my SOBE closer. It was bound to have a strong flavor, but I wanted to compare it with Narnia's own Dwarven Ale.

"You... you want some beer?" Angel extended the bottle out to me a bit hesitantly, doubt in his blue eyes. "Go right ahead. I haven't had any yet, so it's, you know, _clean_."

I accepted the beer with a smile. "Angel..." I laughed and shook my head, then reached up and briefly tickled his forehead with my fingertips. "Your mind is too wonderful to clutter up with such thoughts all the time. Just relax. If something bothers me, I'll let you know. We just shared breakfast, for goodness sakes, and I didn't complain once about anything." I touched his cheek, and that small gesture brought out a smile.

How I love making him smile. It's like seeing the sun appear from behind stormclouds.

My heart warmed. I turned my attention to the beer and took a tentative sip, then swallowed hard and raised my eyebrows as the stuff burned a trail down my esophagus. Nodding quickly, I handed the bottle to Angel and waited a moment before speaking. "Not bad." Rapidly I unscrewed the lid from my SOBE and quaffed a little to counteract the overwhelming experience, then grinned sheepishly at Angel. "I'm just not made to handle it, I guess. But it is... pretty good. Really." I wiped a tear from my eye. "I just... love SOBE," I added. "I have never met a more delicious beverage in my entire life."

Angel burst into fits of loud laughter at the sight of my tears. In between boyish giggles, he took a few sips of the beer. He had considerable fortitude where beer was concerned, unlike me. "SOBE is good too, yes, but the only effect you'll get out of it is a sugar rush."

His wing was still within easy reach, so as the fire from the alcohol subsided, I returned my hand to the point near his shoulder and let my palm glide easily down the length of his wingbone. He shifted it so that it pressed more firmly against my hand, encouraging me to continue. Slightly embarrassed by my own inability to handle beer, yet pleased to have amused him yet again, I flushed and smiled at him. His reaction to my reaction was well worth it. I took another calming sip of SOBE. "Ah well. It does compare nicely to Dwarven Ale though." I chuckled. "You'll probably love it and the Dwarfs forever admire anyone who sings the praises of their brews. As for me, well..." I shrugged. "I'm content with the sugar rush."

Abruptly I stopped. This was my chance. Without a thought in my head, I took aim and added pointedly, "I don't have any serious pain to numb."

_Bullseye_. THAT jolted him. One moment he was gazing at me with incredible warmth in his blue eyes, smiling; the next, his face fell and he stared thoughtfully at his bottle of beer, somewhat downcast. I put my free hand gently on his cheek, turning his face towards me so I could look fully into his eyes.

"Tell me," was all I said.

He didn't want to look into my eyes. He resisted the pressure on his cheek, but I - very gently - insisted. Reluctantly, our gazes locked for a moment, and there was a world of pain rising to the surface that he struggled to repress - as if he were a volcano building pressure, yet determined not to erupt.

Determination won out. "_Tell you?_ Tell you what?" He forced a smile and withdrew, both mentally and physically, snatching his wing away and folding it firmly against his back. He turned his attention to the Oreos and went on. "You know, there are these cookies that are very good, much better than these, but I can never remember what they're called... so I can't buy them. Pretty stupid, huh?"

Hurt rocketed through my chest when he pulled away from me so hard. I'd been expecting it, but I wasn't prepared for how much _pain_ it would cause. Clenching my empty fists, I fought to keep my feelings from expressing themselves, and I swallowed a little cry. It was almost amusing, his attempt to divert me with something as silly as cookies, but it struck me as such a desperate move that I couldn't find a shred of humor in it. No... it was painfully endearing. A lump the size of a potato lodged in my throat.

"I'm... I'm sorry about the cookies," I murmured, greatly subdued. "But it's not stupid." I went on about memory being buried with hurt, because I knew that too well from personal experience, but my discourse came to an awkward end. It was now or never. I had him on the ledge... and while part of me didn't want to go any further, I couldn't just _leave_ him there. My heart told me what kind of person he was, loud and clear. He needed this...

Steeling myself, I closed my eyes and allowed a stream of recent recollections and observations about Angel flood over me. Fear slowly ebbed away in the darkness, replaced by feelings and images. A picture began to form in my mind's eye, and from it emerged thoughts, which slowly congealed into words.

"Do you know what you are, Angel?" I murmured softly. "You're a chameleon." I opened my eyes again and fixed my gaze directly into his. "A chameleon changes his colors to fit his environment... out of a need to protect himself, out of fear. But no matter how much a chameleon changes on the outside, he's always the same on the inside."

He made no effort to look at me, or to really move at all. He just sat there, slumped over, his glassy gaze lost in the grass. He didn't want me doing this to him. He didn't want me poking around in the dark corners of his soul. His whole body conveyed, _Please, just leave me alone..._

It almost broke my heart to see him like that. Turning my head aside, I closed my eyes. _I'm sorry, Angel. I can't... If I let you go now, you'll never let me get this close to you again. This time you were broadsided, but in the future you'll equate my coming with imminent danger. You'll keep me at arm's length and we'll never have this chance again..._

Suddenly Angel stirred and took a long draught of beer. I bit the inside of my cheek and prayed for courage. "You know, Angel, tonight's flight is going to be the last I ever ask of you. You live... so much of your life for other people, striving to meet their expectations and keep them happy, that... sometimes I wonder if _you_ know what _you_ want anymore." I swallowed hard. "Now... now if you offer to take me into the skies, on the other hand, I'll never refuse. But I'm not going to ask of my own volition again."

Angel choked as a wave of inner pain clouded his eyes, and he slowly lowered his drink. Blinking, he suddenly finished off the beer in a few gulps, then set the empty bottle aside with faux calmness. He was teetering on the very edge, battling with all his might to hold on and not fall. And I was standing there - not pushing him, just trying to persuade him that everything was going to be alright: _Just trust me enough to jump, Angel. Just this once..._

He cleared his throat. I held my breath; he was going to _say_ something. "You know... I really enjoy helping others. I would feel so..." He squirmed. "I dunno, ignoble if I lived only to serve myself." He paused, frowning, but whatever he was thinking he didn't intend to share. "Besides, I don't mind taking you up as often as you like. That's something I enjoy wholeheartedly. Not everyone is capable of having wings, after all. Therefore I should share the experience with those who desire it."

Warily, I smiled at his answer, but I quickly shook my head. "You don't understand. If I were to ask you anytime I liked, I would have requested three flights already and planned out several more over the course of the afternoon. I told you, I'm addicted. And it's unspeakably _kind_ of you to carry any and all who ask it of you. But Angel, that's just _wrong_. You're not my servant." I paused as an idea occurred to me, and I cocked my head at him curiously. "It's not selfish to soar the skies alone. Those wings were given to _you_..."

A frustrated sigh from Angel cut me off. Abruptly he snatched an Oreo and chucked it into the grass. I blanched and stared at the Oreo he'd hurled out there for no apparent reason. Pale-faced, I slowly turned my gaze back to him. No... he wasn't feeding the ants. His expression confirmed that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"You know, all this talk of Narnia is really making me anxious to plan our trip. We'll have to do it soon anyway, before school starts. Before I'm lost to my obligations again."

Another diversion. I agreed to take him to Narnia any time he liked, but my mind was leaping ahead. His priorities: School. Obligations. Serving others, to the detriment of himself...

I closed my eyes. _Oh Aslan. This is his father's doing. That's why he sees himself... like this..._

When Angel spoke of his father, he portrayed Warren Worthington Jr. as a sort of heroic figure, a mighty businessman who was the head of an entire empire, whose thoughts and actions had repercussions that affected a good portion of this world. Angel didn't have delusions about his father, exactly. He knew that what Warren Jr. had done to his own son was _wrong_... and yet, deep down, Angel couldn't accept that. Warren Jr. was Angel's father. Somehow that canonized him in ways logic could never explain.

Yet it made perfect sense. If one's parents were rotten, then it stood to reason that their children couldn't be any better.

Angel admired his father to no end, and Angel... just wasn't good enough in his father's eyes, because he was a mutant. No wonder Angel felt lousy about himself. But what had Angel done to "deserve" this? Warren Jr. treated Angel as if it were Angel's fault that he'd suddenly sprouted wings at the age of 15. For that crime alone, Angel was removed from his bloodline. He was no longer a part of the family. He was an outsider... an animal.

I flinched and shuddered. So was I, really; I was even more _animal_ than Angel was. I fought back the sudden urge to whimper. If my parents had disowned me for having four hooves and a tail, I... I'd have died. I couldn't have borne that. They may have abandoned me in death, but at least I knew they _loved_ me. What Angel was carrying around with him, I could hardly _begin_ to imagine.

Sadness cloaked my features; I felt darkness settle over me. This wasn't just about Angel. This was very, very personal. "You hate being caged," I said quietly. "But the real you is caged behind all those colored masks. You're not... free. Sometimes, when you're flying, you're safe to be you." A slight smile crossed my lips at the memory. "When you were wounded and vulnerable, I saw the real you. And the real you is... is..." My chin trembled and my jaw clenched, but I willed back the tears and looked steadily into his eyes, gazing at him with unguarded, innocent sincerity. I finished my sentence in a whisper. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

There it was... partially out in the open. I'm used to hiding my heart from the whole world - but then again, so is Angel. I didn't know how else to get to him to trust me unless I first bared my soul, breaking down his barriers by lowering my own defenses. It hurt like anything. And it was... very frightening.

Angel fidgeted, his guard against me firmly in place - but at the word "beautiful", he tensed further, then exhaled a shaky breath.

But it was the truth. Angel _is_ the most beautiful person I've ever seen. That simple, sweet part of him was too precious to lose, and if his father killed it, I'd be devastated. The very thought made me want to cry, again.

His next words accomplished just that.

"Y- you don't understand. I can't share these things with you, or with anyone. They're only going to convince you how much of a... a... of how messed up I am. I couldn't bear to have you look at me the same way my father does."

A gasp left me as he drove the dagger into my heart, and I lifted gray eyes brimming with tears to his. "Don't say that!" I cried in a hoarse whisper, a sob ricocheting through my body. How could he even equate me with that man?! Hatred for his father's control consumed me, but I wouldn't - nay, couldn't - let him know. He was still too attached to his father and if I tried to force him away too early, he'd reject _me_. I had to be _so_ careful. I was desperate not to lose him!

A tear shot down my cheek. His tone of voice was killing me as much as the words he wrapped in it. "Please... Angel... you've _got_ to believe me. Don't you know me at all?" I was very, very vulnerable, but it didn't matter anymore. It was too late: Already I was being torn to shreds. I struggled for composure. "I don't see you that way, nor will I ever. It's those masks. They're what's twisted and... and 'messed up'. Inside of you I see the real you... by the mane!" I hissed, frustrated with my inability to turn garbled thoughts into words.

Angel'd had enough. I saw him flinch violently as if shot - whether from my words, or his own wounds, or from seeing _me_ cry, or perhaps a combination of those factors; I didn't know - and a single tear came loose and made a path down his cheek. He rose very suddenly to his feet, turning his back slightly to me as if he wanted to hide from me completely, though his good manners prevailed even now and kept him from being completely rude to me.

He spoke through trembling lips. "So, listen, um... Why don't you let me handle the clean-up here, and I'll... rejoin you when I'm done. Okay?"

I buried my face in my hands. _Oh no... A polite dismissal._ I'd done it... I'd hurt him, badly... and I'd lost. Sobs rushed to my throat and I smothered them, shaking all over. _Aslan, Aslan, what have I done? Please... no more, please..._ I begged him for a release; the pain was nearing intolerable levels. I was almost glad Angel had risen when he did. I didn't want him to see this. If I could pull myself together for a moment, just one moment, I could maybe make it inside the mansion and flee to one of the rooms and cry alone. My heart felt as if it had been torn out and stabbed mercilessly and left to bleed. I couldn't take any more...

I didn't want to leave him, but I too had a code of behavior - even now. At Angel's request, I picked myself heavily off the ground. My bones had gone leaden with pain. Wavering slightly, as if there had been some alcoholic element in the SOBE after all, I took a few staggering steps in the direction of the mansion before I lost my vision completely. I brushed a hand over my eyes and stopped to look over my shoulder at Angel's feather-clad back, hiding him away from me. Sometimes, even his wings could be a mask.

There is no way to describe the utter devastation I felt in that moment. The morning had gone completely dark, and bright autumn colors faded to lifeless shades of gray. I had lost something dear and wonderful: Angel's friendship, and Angel's fragile trust; both of which had been impulsively given to me in extraordinary measure. I'd broken that trust. In a way, I'd betrayed him. I'd used his confidences as tools to pry open dusty old trunks in the locked cellar of Angel's soul, where he'd stowed away his feelings on purpose because he hadn't wanted them disturbed. I'd made him _cry_ in front of me - me, a centaur visiting from another dimension, who was practically a stranger. I'd known him for what, a day? Hardly even a whole 24-hour cycle. And I'd broken down his walls and made him _cry_. If that didn't convince Angel he was weak, I didn't know what would.

I moaned inwardly. _This is all my fault..._

Angel wasn't the sort of person to trust just anyone: Of all people, I should know what that was like; I trusted myself to no one. I should have been more patient. I should have waited until he had a chance to know me, to know that I wasn't going to hurt him without his best interests in mind. Now I'd mortally wounded him, and mutant healing powers and Queen Lucy's cordial and all the magic of both our worlds wouldn't put us back together again.

Worse yet, I'd caused Angel more pain than what he'd had to bear in the first place.

In total despair, my mind shut down. I couldn't think anymore. There was only one thing I wanted to do before I took myself back to Narnia, where I couldn't hurt him any worse just by being here; my very presence a constant reminder. Angel had dealt with pain all his life: In time, he'd rebuild the walls I'd broken down and secure his cellar of secrets with another iron layer that no one would be able to penetrate, to prevent any such destructive break-ins from happening ever again.

I closed my eyes and found the last of my courage - just barely enough to fix into place my own mask, a shield against a thousand emotions all trying to get out. The next thing I knew, I was standing before him, not even daring to look into his eyes. I didn't want to see the damage I'd caused. Abruptly grim determination rose in my chest, and I gazed up into his blue eyes.

They were swimming in tears, and there was a dullness about them - a kind of numb oblivion. Somehow, before I lost my nerve, I set my hand on his cheek. I had only one thing to say.

"I... am... _not_... your father," I said in a low soft voice, emphasizing each word with deliberate finality and putting all my strength into that single phrase. I let my hand brush tenderly over his cheek one more time... one _last_ time. Aslan, I was going to miss him.

Then I turned around and walked away.

My mask was rapidly disintegrating. Tears were falling steadily one by one down my face, slowly increasing in number. If I couldn't get away fast, I was going to break down right there and start sobbing in the middle of the courtyard, and that would upset Angel worse and not help matters at all. I closed my eyes and walked blind in the direction of the mansion, focusing only on not collapsing. I had to make it.

"Violar..."

The voice was so tiny, so timid, that I wondered if I'd imagined it. But it was a soft plea - _begging_ me to stay - and it wrenched at my aching heart. I staggered to an uncertain halt and wavered there, afraid to turn, afraid of what I might find. I clenched my fists and stayed the impulse to break into a wild run and flee.

Instead I turned my head slightly and rolled my eyes sideways until I could just peek over my shoulder. Through tear-clouded vision I saw the blurry form of Angel, sitting in the grass in a feathered heap; his wings partially lowered, revealing the defeated mutant sitting dejectedly in the middle of those wings.

My heart broke. I let out a gasp of agony and stood there, rooted in place.

"I tried to commit suicide." His wings drooped even further, and whimpering he hugged his knees to his chest.

_Oh no_. My whole being shattered like glass. _No, no, no, no, no, no..._

A cry tore from me as I suddenly raced forward, pushing his wings aside and grabbing Angel out of that white fortress. He was completely rigid, pliable as stone in my hands; but he didn't resist. I sank into the grass, pulling him out of the feathered mess and into my arms, embracing him and pressing his blonde head against my shoulder.

"There you go, I've got you, I've got you," I whispered over and over, more tears cascading down my cheeks and falling onto his. I buried a hand deep in his hair and rocked him gently, whispering nonsensical nothings in his ear, setting my face against his. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. You're safe, little one."

_Little One_... That was the name my mother had given to those she loved - her husband and her daughter. I had never used it before... until now. But I shared it with Angel. How I wished I could bandage all the wounds in his beautiful young heart... _all_ of them.

I traced the tears from his cheeks, one at a time, before wrapping him in a tighter embrace and drawing him closer. His body was stiff and shaking in my arms, but slowly, ever so slowly, he was giving in... at his own pace. He was still in control... and he was _making_ the decision to trust me. It was a gift, but it was the most painful gift I'd ever received. I coaxed him further, brushing my hand along the back of his head and neck, ruffling through his hair over and over as I continued whispering soothing nonsense over him.

Angel inched nearer, quivering, and suddenly he buried his face hard against my shoulder. His tears instantly soaked though my blouse.

I wrapped both arms around his head and hid him away in darkness, pillowing my cheek against his close-cropped blonde hair. I cried softly as my endless murmurings breathed over him.

"I have you, Angel. Everything's gonna be alright. You're safe now. You're safe."


	14. Learning to Fly

_Once upon a time, when I was still a young foal, I saw a powerful eagle swooping over the summer fields of Narnia, then rising again to shriek at the sapphire skies. I paused in the midst of my grazing, a fistful of golden barley forgotten as I observed the reckless joy of that mighty bird plunging and diving through the air, then stiffening his wings to soar effortlessly, gliding on the warm breeze without a care in the world. My sharp eyes could see every detail, from the slight ruffling of his feathers as he moved through sheer nothingness to the bright gleam of exhilaration in his golden eagle eyes._

_The barley fell from my limp fingers. Flight... I had to capture flight. I had to capture that sensation for myself. There had to be nothing more glorious than the spectacle I'd just witnessed, but seeing it wasn't enough._

_All I had to do was get airborne. I would race the eagle and I would win._

_I broke into a gallop and raced away from the field and toward the riverbank. There was an outcropping there - one I knew well, because it was one of my favorite places to be. I'd pretend to be the true protector of the Great River, and the little otters I used to play with would stand below and look up with awe at the - I imagined - majestic sight of a lady centaur in shining silver armor, standing proud from her rock, surveying her kingdom below while the wind turned her dark hair to flames._

_In reality I was a knobby-kneed yellow-coated filly wearing a worn-out coat of dull gray chain mail that was slightly too big, who lacked the maturity necessary to run an ant farm, let alone a sector of Aslan's Narnia. But it WAS fun to pretend._

_Blinded by the imaginary mirage conjured in my competitive little mind, fearless with excitement, I saw the outcropping ahead and made for it without breaking stride. I entered final approach and galloped flat-out for the ledge. A little faster... a little faster..._

_I leaped into the sun. For one delicious, beautiful moment, I was flying._

_And then... I fell._

_Down I crashed into the mud in a painful mess of long limbs, my pride wounded beyond repair. I didn't understand why flying worked for the eagle and not for me. Turning my tear-streaked face upwards, I saw that magnificent bird wheeling in the cloudless heavens, piercing the world with a wild eagle-scream, and my eyes darkened with childish hatred._

_From that moment on, I was bitterly jealous of anything that flew._

_The worst injury I sustained - besides the crushing blow to my haughty pride - was a sprained fetlock. When I dragged my dirty self back home to the glade, Mom wanted to know what had happened to me. I lied that I was galloping too fast on the riverbank and slipped and fell. I fancied there was a knowing expression on her face: But she said nothing._

_Many years later, I finally told her the truth, and Violar Wildrose Windsong burst into merry laughter. Looking at me with tremendous warmth in the silver-gray eyes that were so like mine, she confided that when she was a foal, she had done the very same thing, and carried a grudge against all winged creatures until Eolas taught her how to truly fly._

_Like mother, like daughter._

Angel wrapped his arms slowly around my waist and nuzzled deeper into my shoulder, and my own walls tumbled down completely. I lost myself in torrents of sobs. For the first time in my life, I cried openly in another's presence without at least making an attempt to curb my tears. I couldn't hold back. I was just... too weak; too weak to even pretend I had an inner strength I simply don't possess. The morning had been one wild ride of emotion, and I was too weary to resist the pain any longer, and I let the river sweep me away.

What Angel was feeling was surely _worse_, yet he wasn't sobbing with abandon like I was. He was crying, and shivering, but he was relatively quiet. There was a war raging inside him, and he was fighting for control, yet _needing_ to give this part of himself to someone. There was a lull in his storm, and lifting his face away from my blouse, he settled it against my neck instead. I set my head sideways over his, letting my dark hair spill over him; creating a dark sanctuary for him to hide away while I wept without shame and curtains of tears shut out the sun.

After a moment Angel began to speak barely above a whisper, his tears momentarily replaced by his soft young voice relating to me his story. He himself was lost in the memory.

_It was raining... That much I remember. A heavy, cold rain. I've never really done well with water, but... that night, I had other things to worry about. This was some time after my parents had discovered what I was, and for many months, I'd been hoping things would somehow get back to normal..._

_It seems naive, now... to have ever wished for total acceptance. But I did. And they didn't. One of the servants confessed to overhearing a discussion between my mother and father about sending me away. It wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last. But they didn't mention anything until a week before the intended move, which left me no time... to, to come to terms with it, or to argue, or to try and stop it somehow._

_Imagine what that's like... Being told by your parents that they refuse to have you under the same roof any longer... that you aren't "normal"... that it's bad publicity. Maybe it wouldn't have affected me so much if I'd maintained my large circle of school friends. But when my wings first started growing, I intentionally did everything I could to make the other children hate me, just so that they wouldn't find out the truth... Anyway... I didn't know what to do anymore. There was no hope for my future, no one gave a hoot about me, and on top of it all, I was a freak. And yet it wasn't even as selfish as that... I honestly thought that my family would be better off without me. Especially my father, who was doing his best to hide his son's horrible secret from the media..._

_So I took the stairs, all thirty-two flights of them, to the roof of Worthington Tower... And I stood on that ledge, in the rain, overlooking the beautiful city lights... Not even crying, but stone-faced and numb; afraid only that someone would see me... And I jumped. And somewhere between the thirty-second floor and the pavement, the wind tore the coat off my back, and instinct took over..._

_My parents never found out... But they must have known something, because their plan was dropped for a few months... At least until they caught me airborne one too many times..._

Angel's body was slowly going limp in my arms as his resistance ebbed away, and his snowy wings drooped loosely in the grass behind him, reminding me of a bedraggled little bird who'd just survived a particularly harsh storm. I held him close and cried increasingly harder, my tears mixing with his.

All my life, I'd wanted to fly with the strange sort of desperation that drives a centaur mad on windy days - days when the relentless breeze ruffles through your hair and over your fur and right into your very _soul_, whispering your name with increasing intensity. But Angel was the one who knew firsthand the price you have to pay to obtain freedom.

Freedom... what was freedom? Freedom was much more than wings. Freedom was much more than flying, or running away: He knew how empty flying could be, and I had experienced the dissatisfaction that came from running away. It had its glorious moments, to be sure. But they never lasted long. It wasn't real freedom.

Freedom... that's what we were both searching for. That's what we were both truly desperate for. Learning to fly was a lot more complicated than either of us could imagine... with or without wings.


	15. The Tale of a Boy

During my first afternoon at the Institute, my life was changed forever - by an Angel.

He'd tried to commit suicide and learned how to fly instead. Having failed in his attempt at killing himself, he felt dreadful about having risked his own life at all: Deep down, he knew it was wrong. When a person does something intentionally that they know is wrong, it seats a feeling of guilt and unworthiness inside of you that's incredibly difficult to shake.

I should know. I've done that countless times, and I'm still running from shadows of my past.

Discovering that his wings were more than mere decoration wasn't as much of a consolation as it should have been. His gift was also his curse. The dream of every human being was his to possess - to fly, to soar like a bird; yet to fly without true freedom is an empty flight. And that's all Angel had.

He was afraid of being discovered. He flew above the clouds, but his spirit was grounded.

To look at the world through his eyes for just a moment burned like fire. How did he live with this? I had my own troubles, and I'd developed methods of coping; but even as far as I could see into Angel's troubled soul, I was unprepared for the sheer weight of what he carried inside of him.

Angel is... amazing. His inner strength kept him alive - with a little help from his wings when he leaped from the roof of Worthington Tower and descended in the rain, with the rain... and found his salvation in the rain.

Today, that same rain was falling down his face, washing away the heartache like ocean waves slowly chipping away at an island; breaking down the barriers he'd built up inside of him - the barriers he needed to survive.

He wasn't the only one with barriers. Crying over Angel, crying _with_ Angel, broke down barriers inside of me as well.

His trial may have come through rain, but mine came through fire - and the sun. Life taught me one thing: Love hurts. Love _kills_. Love is the most powerful force in the universe, and if one loses it... one dies. That is why love terrifies me more than almost anything. Deep down, I don't really want to die...

After I lost my parents, my home, and very nearly my sanity, I had one thing left: My life. Perhaps it was because I was afraid I would lose that too that I decided to take matters into my own hands. Everything else was beyond my control.

I hated Aslan. I hated him with a raging passion. Aslan had never done me any favors, and the very fact that he could take my family away from me and leave me without a soul in the world to call my own was evidence of his cruelty, his uncaring heart, and his untrustworthiness. Didn't he know I needed them? Of course he did! He was the Great Lion; he knew everything. So why did he choose me, of all centaurs, to pick on? Whatever had I done to wrong him, to deserve his distain and his unjust punishment? Nothing! There were other centaurs in the Council Ring who were much more capable of handling a tragedy like mine: Even if they lost their parents, they, at least, had the herd to rely on, and their home in the Council Ring was a place of safety and refuge.

I didn't have that. I had nothing - nothing but my own life, and I took that straight to the desert wastelands just north of Calormene.

Food was scarce. Water was precious. Sun blazed indiscriminately on everyone and everything until the landscape was cracked and barren and lifeless. Ruffians and outlaws scraped a living off what little they could find, and they were ruthless - killing and stealing from each other if it meant their survival. Slavers roamed the parched sands. If they could've caught me, they'd have sold me to Calormene royalty - probably some prince in the glorious city of Tashbaan - and there I would have lived in chains among a collection of other unique and freakish creatures that were considered rare in that part of my world. There were no centaurs in Calormene: A centaur would have brought the lucky slaver who caught me a massive fortune, countrywide fame, and an early retirement.

But I wasn't going to be captured. I was going to die. In this merciless place, I prepared to take my last stand and go down fighting.

Only I wasn't counting on the mercy of Aslan. I may have turned my back on him, but his love for me kept him from doing the same. I, like Angel, had been given a gift.

In those years, I became acutely aware of a sort of sixth sense: I began to term it my Danger Sense. I could _feel_ evil creeping upon me, even while I slept, and I would leap up and give the slavers a fight they wouldn't soon forget. Centaurs are naturally intuitive, but I knew this Danger Sense was something beyond that. I could feel the emotions of people around me like some people see colors; I just had to learn how to interpret them.

Days became weeks, which turned into months, and then years. Still I survived. I learned to wield two swords with deadly precision. I practiced drills and footwork by day to pass the endless hours, forcing my body to meet the demands I placed upon it. A strange fire burned inside of me. It was relentless fury devoid of anger. It was glory devoid of joy. It was steely determination devoid of true spirit.

I had become a warrior.

It was always with me. My muscles hardened to iron even as I grew more flexible. The sun baked my skin such a dark color of brown that I looked like one of the Calormene natives. I never had enough to eat, but hunger lent desperation and deadly precision to my hunting endeavors. It was rare when I missed with a bow and arrow.

The slavers knew who I was. If they couldn't surprise me with an ambush, they wouldn't dare face me. All I had to do was direct one long, bold glare at them, and perhaps settle a hand meaningfully on my hilt, and they would retreat, no doubt remembering their comrades who couldn't escape from the wrath of my swords - or my arrows.

Angel went up to that tower to die, and he learned how to fly. I went into the desert to perish, and instead I became a warrior.

Surviving death does strange things to a person, as it had no doubt done with Angel: Aslan only knows how many ways Angel compensated for his brush with death. New barriers have to be built around one's heart for security purposes. One of mine included fear - a fear of getting close to anyone. A fear of love.

But with Angel, I wasn't afraid. Maybe it was because I didn't have time to be afraid. Or maybe it was because I somehow felt, deep down, that if Angel couldn't find restoration, then there was no hope for me either. Aside from all that, Angel is rare - so rare that I know I'll never find anyone else like him. If anyone deserved to find peace, it was him. If there was even a slim chance that I could foster that transformation in some manner, then I had to take that risk - no matter what the cost.

Even if it killed me. Months later, it almost did.

But on that day, all I cared about was Angel. When he finally returned my impulsive embrace, my tears fell more freely, and for the first time since my parents' death, I cried openly in another's presence without at least attempting to curb my tears, or to pretend to have an inner strength I simply didn't possess. Gathering him more closely in my arms, I held his shivering form securely against mine and wept without shame. I set my cheek sideways against his and let my long hair fall over the top of his head, shielding him from the world; shutting out light and providing a safe haven where he could tell me his story.

I listened to his soft voice recounting, in between countless sniffles and muffled sobs, the tale of a boy who suddenly found himself alone, lost in the world, without a soul to care about him - rejected even by his own family, all for something that was beyond his control, that wasn't his fault, and that he blamed himself for nonetheless. Even... a son's blind devotion to a father who didn't deserve an ounce of it drove him to the top of that tower. Because of this sudden loss of acceptance from those who offered him a sorry excuse for love in the first place, he viewed his beautiful transformation into what he was born to be as worse than a hideous, twisted deformity. He saw himself... as a monster.

This revelation pierced me like a sword. That was a thousand times worse than anything I'd had to suffer. He was imparting a deep piece of himself to me, and despite the awful thorns that stabbed me in the process, I embraced it in my heart as I was embracing him now, as something precious beyond measure: Taking it into my care to soothe and protect. It was a dangerous process for me, but I never stopped to ask questions - to ask why I was doing this for someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

Every whispered word wrenched deeper into my broken heart. I couldn't _stand_ merely hearing his story; I can't imagine what it must have been like to _live_ it. I slipped my hand to the back of his neck and gently massaged the tense muscles, desperate to comfort him in any way I could, but letting him cry and sharing his tears with my own.

More than anything I wanted to tell him not to cry, to hush him; but he _had_ to cry. Because that was the only way. I had tried so hard that day to break through the dam, but I was unprepared for the deluge that was unleashed when his sturdy - and often impenetrable - defenses finally gave way. How I had gotten to him, I didn't know and I didn't have time to figure out. I was swept into the river of agony and found tenderness beyond describable measure rushing through me. That he trusted me enough to cry in my arms, to tell me his deepest secrets... it shattered something fragile at my very core and gave me courage to be just as vulnerable with him as he was daring to be with me.

When his words trailed off at last, I slowly lifted my heavy head from his. My eyes were closed, but our faces were inches apart: I could sense it. I couldn't think very well - it hurt too much to think - but faded logic told me that I had to be so careful with him now. He was wounded and in pain; the last thing I wanted to do was make that pain any worse. And since Angel, in his genuine kindness, placed the needs of all women before his own - not out of some twisted desire to manipulate women, but because he is a sincere gentleman - there were certain lines I could not cross, or he would feel obligated to me. That was the last thing I wanted. As it was, he was going to feel indebted enough when this session was over.

Nevertheless, I couldn't help myself: Settling my hand against his cheek, I pressed my lips to his forehead in a soft kiss.

That small gesture felt like a lightning strike. It shocked my whole being with pain and shook loose a fresh flood of tears as the stronghold of fear inside me trembled in sheer terror. But by then I was beyond rational thought. After a violent sob I kissed his temple, then moved downward to kiss the corner of his eye, where tears were still coming of their own accord. The bitter salty taste stung me into further madness, and I kissed a gentle trail down his cheek, lingering over each tear and ending at his jaw.

Fear had a stranglehold on me by then. My whole body was rigid and my stomach hardened to iron. Vaguely a wish that I hadn't eaten as much orange chicken as I had crossed my mind, but it was immediately forgotten when Angel shifted in my arms. I froze, not knowing what he would do - how he would respond. But he wasn't trying to pull away, nor was he trying to get closer, and fear's paralysis slowly loosened its grip on me. It was only a lull in the storm, but I'd take what I could get.

Then I raised my head and searched the courtyard with bleary eyes to make sure there was no one around. Everything was blurry, and there were only watery patches of green from trees and grass, and a large brown blotch I identified as the stable, and something gray that my ears told me was the fountain. That was all.

Blessedly, we were still alone. Aslan had granted us a brief respite from the world, which had ceased to turn. The pale opaline skies were not yet host to the full blaze of the morning sun. It felt like we'd been out here for hours... but perhaps that was because I was journeying through Angel's life as well as my own. Years went by in a matter of minutes, full of memory and emotion and pain.

He was looking at me. I knew he was. I could feel it. But I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. My heart was already crushed, and I didn't know how much more I could take.

Sooner or later, I had to look down into his eyes - and find out.


	16. Worth Saving

Fear is a formidable foe. Knowing it lurks is only half the battle; the other half is defeating it.

One of the swiftest ways to defeat fear is to put someone else before yourself.

That afternoon, holding a crying Angel in my arms, I was only partially successful. There were so many things I was afraid of... so many things, in fact, that even someone like Angel could only eclipse part of it.

I couldn't entirely vanquish his fears either. As gentle as I was, as soft-spoken as I was, as drowned in tears as I was, as brokenhearted as I was on his behalf... there was no way I could take away a lifetime of fear and anguish in a single afternoon.

But oh, how I wanted to... more than I can say. Just when I thought my heart couldn't break any worse after his confession that he'd tried to commit suicide, his beautiful blue eyes opened and gazed up at me from beneath a film of tears. Emotions seared through me in a way that made beer tame as water by comparison, and I gasped and stopped breathing. He was crying so hard that he couldn't keep from sniffling - which must have been awful; he's not used to being vulnerable like that, and after knowing him for less than two days, I was fully aware of his pride and how critical that pride was to keep him alive.

His pride was like my anger.

But his pride - and his mask - had been cast aside, and I saw that in his eyes as he looked at me. He'd placed himself fully in my hands - literally; he was just lying limp in my arms, letting me hold him. There was no resistance to me, and that in itself was a frightening and beautiful gift that I hardly knew what to do with. My heart was hammering as I gazed down at him, trying to hold back the tears.

_By the mane... he's beautiful._

He wiped his hands over his damp cheeks and looked up at me again. "Violar... am I worth saving?"

I stopped breathing.

A cold wave of pure agony shot through my heart. It was like being stabbed with a knife. I lost every last shred of centaurian composure I owned and clasped his face between my hands, trying to look into his blue eyes past a rush of tears.

"Yes..." I sniffed wildly. "Yes..."

My tears got the best of me. I lowered my head and released his face to embrace him again, giving myself over to an unrestrained torrent of weeping. Aslan... how much could one person take? How much could one person be asked to bear? It was a miracle Angel could fly while carrying this load on his soul...

Through a dark curtain of tears, I felt his warm hand against my cheek, as if seeking consolation; and with a violent sob I turned my face into it and fiercely kissed his palm before giving him my cheek again, crying too hard to breathe.

How could he ask me that? Beautiful, self-assured, prince-like, confident Angel, asking _me_ - whom he'd just met - if he was even _worth saving_.

That killed me. The most wonderful person I'd ever met was desperate to know if he was even _worth saving_.

There were so many answers I wanted to give him... so many things I was dying to say: So much that was brought on by compassion and yet so much that was _not_ brought on by mere sympathy - things that his very presence drew out of me - but the words, and even the thoughts themselves, were numbed in my mind, drowned in my sorrows, and choked in my throat.

I couldn't tell him anything. All I could do was hold him close and cry.

I felt his touch on my forearm and it shifted downward, searching for my hand. Instinctively I dropped it down into his, and his fingers laced through mine. I welcomed them wordlessly and clasped his hand with equal _need_. I left one arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders, over his wings, and I pressed my wet cheek to his, and we stayed like that - locked in an embrace like a dance, delicate and full of pain and emotion; even alternately giving and receiving, breaking and consoling. It tore me apart, but I wouldn't let go. I refused to let go.

Something fierce rose up in my devastated heart. The more pain I felt, the more I embraced it - and Angel. "Yes," I whispered again, more strongly this time. I left my tear-sealed eyes closed and murmured directly in his ear. "Yes."

A shiver went through his body, and he huddled against me, shaking with tears. He acted as if he were hiding close to me, taking refuge in a shelter I provided him, like a baby bird - as if I were his own wings, closed around him and protecting him from a world that had hurt him, badly. Worse than he liked to admit; worse than he wanted anyone to know.

But I knew. I'd seen things... and what I hadn't seen, he'd told me. I wondered how much deeper this pain went, and though I blanched at the idea of finding out, I was seized with a desperate desire to know everything. _Everything_.

I swallowed my tears. "Yes," I murmured in a husky tone. I was still beyond belief. Suicide. Imagine: Naturally happy, generous-natured Angel, attempting suicide. His own parents had driven him to that ledge in the rain, and Angel was the one who bore the full responsibility. As if the world would truly benefit from Angel's loss... That would be the day the government of New York benefitted from the installation of the White Witch as their queen.

I let out a shuddering sigh and sniffled. "Yes."

Angel broke down even further at each word, huddled against me, his muscular body tight as a coiled spring as he cried against his will. I pressed my face into his shoulder and held him close; otherwise I didn't move. Sometimes I cried; other times I sat still, too paralyzed by pain to even breathe.

Besides the pain of Angel's troubles, Angel's very presence caused sleeping dragons to stir inside of me, and they stampeded through my soul, ripping open old wounds and tearing at resolves I'd made, long ago, out of a desire for self-preservation. But I was too tired and in too much pain to stop my inner chaos - or to be afraid.

Slowly, the tension in Angel's body receded. He was breathing hard, as if after the exertion of a long flight, but at least he could breathe again. Wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm, he straightened up enough to turn his head away from mine.

I didn't look up, but I sensed he was staring at his wings. He was obviously going through some intense thought processes, and perhaps memories. I could feel his shifting emotions as he grappled with his past. But I remained where I was, resting my head against his shoulder, and let those emotions play out as they would. My part in this drama was over. And thank Aslan; I couldn't take much more of it.

Then I was aware of a slight twitch, and I opened my eyes just in time to see him pluck a feather from his wing. I sucked air through my teeth in a halfhearted wince. _Ouch_. Why had he done that?

After awhile, Angel's head fell against mine again and he sighed, seemingly as worn out as I was and trembling from the raw emotion of the past hour. Finally he spoke in the soft voice of someone numbly exhausted.

"I just don't understand, Violar... if there is a God, and if we were all created by His hand... why did He choose to make me look like this? Like one of His own? Am I supposed to be doing something to make the world a better place? Am I supposed to be 'special,' or different from everyone else?" He paused. I bit my lip as tears lurched in my throat, but I said nothing as he went on. "I am more hated by the religious population than Kurt... They condemn me with the same fervor with which they condemn murderers, and child molestors. And do you know why? ...Because they say I wasn't made by God. They say I was made by... the other side..." His body relaxed a little. He was depleting the small reserve of strength he had left. "Maybe it's coincidence. Maybe I'm a mistake. Maybe I don't belong anywhere."

Slumping weakly against me, he silently gave up. I felt it. It was as if there was no point to resisting any of this... the pain, the flood of memories, even my attempts at soothing him. He became entirely passive to all of it, and he went limp as a tired child in my arms.

I dissolved into tears at about the same time he did, but these weren't wrenching sobs - they were just tears flowing down his face. I was quiet for a long time after he finished asking questions, but I had to give him answers. I ran my hand over the back of his short-cropped hair and shifted, attempting to pull away and look at him, but then I changed my mind and relaxed again: Moving wasn't worth reaggravating the agony in my own heart. I spoke softly in his ear.

"When you're up there, soaring, do you feel like a mistake?" I questioned him by way of an answer. He made no move to reply, only listening to what I was saying. I swallowed hard, forcing words past the tears. "You're beautiful, Angel. Your wings are... a gift. Though I know they don't seem like it, sometimes..." I trailed off with a little sniff as another tear rolled down my cheek. That was so, so wrong. "You're not... not made by evil any more than I am. Evil can't create life. Evil, by its very nature, _destroys_ life. Evil is the opposite of God: God is love, evil is hate. God is hope, evil is... not. God is life, evil is death. Like that."

I sensed he didn't entirely believe me. But my argument was a sound one, I think, and he wasn't able to completely discard what I'd said either.

Shifting slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. "I dread the day you have to leave, Violar."

I lost it. Sobs ricocheted through me. The last lingering wisps of the fear I harbored in boldly taking his sorrows into my arms dissipated at last, and the dragons of the past were silent. I turned my head to nuzzle his cheek.

"Don't talk like that," I whispered, struggling to draw breath through a very tight throat. "I... am not going back... I want to stay here." _With you._ I couldn't say that. My voice broke. Another tear I didn't know I still possessed broke free from my closed eyelids and I hugged him tighter, as if I feared being pulled back by force. "I will take you for a visit but... I want to stay here... please."

I felt his fingers on my face, smoothing away the tears, and he leaned in for another kiss, this time just beside the bridge of my nose. "You don't have to ask me for permission to remain here. It's entirely up to you, love. I'm sure Ororo can provide you with a room."

I had no resistance to him by then. With my eyes still closed, I leaned my forehead against his cheek and tenderly kissed his jaw in response to his gentleness. My mother was right - exhaustion can do amazing things to a person.

Remembering my mother brought me back to Angel's many questions. I blew out a great sigh. Life could be so complicated sometimes. "You have free will choice, Little One... you are free to follow Aslan, God, if you wish it, or you don't have to. But that choice is left entirely in your hands. And whichever road you take, you can change your mind any time you please. I... I know this because it happened to me... and Aslan forgives. There is a saying that 'he who is forgiven much, loves much', and that concept applies to me. I... will tell you about it... another time."

I shuddered slightly. I couldn't bear to add any more suffering to the tremendous load we'd just unearthed. But I had more in common with Angel than he could imagine. It wasn't that it was particularly painful to speak of, since I'd dealt with most of it already, but I was too worn out to talk much, and the story was not entirely short. And I didn't know if Angel was ready to hear it: He was kind-hearted and cared about other people, and it would greatly sadden him if he knew what I'd been through. I wasn't in the mood to get into a sort of argument over whose life had been worse - we'd both insist the other had had it rougher - or so I guessed would be the case. It was the way of people like us. This was his time to cry: For me, there would be other days. This was a first step for him; I, at least, had on a few occasions freed pent-up tears into Aslan's glorious mane - an experience that was both absolutely terrifying and deeply healing.

I was glad I could be Aslan's mane to Angel that afternoon. And what a gift it had been, strange as it may seem. I closed my eyes completely and felt Angel's feather down soft as powdered sugar beneath my hands, and all the tension - or the last of it - left my body.

Right then, Angel started and pulled back suddenly. Chilled air struck me, replacing the warmth he'd provided. Startled, my eyes blinked open and I looked at him in puzzlement and dawning worry. Had I done something wrong?

I trembled. Fear reasserted itself with a vengeance - but only for an instant. His expression, or what I could see of it through tear-blurred vision, was one of deep regret. "Violar... I'm so sorry... I'm burdening you with all of this, when you have experienced plenty of heartache yourself. I have no right to accept your help without offering some of my own."

My heart clenched. His need to look out for other people was surfacing, and I had to put a stop to it - immediately. With my free hand, I set my fingers lightly over his lips and hushed him with a slight shake of my head, gazing directly into his eyes. "You have done nothing wrong," I answered earnestly. "You... you needed this. Too long have you been hiding... hiding from the truth and hiding from pain. Just because you didn't want to look at it didn't mean it wasn't there, Angel. I... I wanted to show you. I..." I settled my hand against his cheek and finished, "I _wanted_ this. I know that seems strange but..."

My brow furrowed as I scoured my heart for words that he would understand. How do you tell someone that you _wanted_ to see them break down like this? He was being very patient, just watching me; mingled curiosity and pain and concern in his eyes. It was a miracle that I could hold his gaze. "I told you... that the _real_ you is the most beautiful thing I've... ever seen... and I wanted to uncover who you really are. Not just so I could find it, but so that _you_ could see it, Angel. That was the most important thing to me, because not even you can see who you really are..."

I bit my lip as my eyes stung with tears. I wearily shook my head, willing those tears to stay away. But it was so terrible that he couldn't see who he really was...

Suddenly it occurred to me that he might mistake my meaning - and that I thought the real Angel was... weak; prone to crying and an emotional wreck! I dropped my head and gave a choked chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the thought, but it was a genuine concern, and I had to do something about it - whether it had crossed Angel's mind or not. "The real you... well it's... it's not..." I couldn't even say it; my brain wasn't functioning well enough to articulate anything of value. Swallowing hard, I looked up at him with a slight smile. "The real you needed to be unburied. It hurts, and there's a lot of tears involved, but trust me, it's worth it." My fingers were smoothing away the lingering tears on his cheek.

He shook his head as if he didn't accept that, absently trailing one hand down my arm, sleeve to wrist. When he reached my hand, I participated by winding my fingers through his as he went on. "If you have anything, anything that you would like to relieve yourself of, I'm willing to listen, just as you've been listening to me for the past hour. Please, let's devote no more time to my past... I know very little of yours."

"I don't want to talk about it," I told him, but without much spirit: I'd already given in to him. I hoped he didn't know that. If he pressed me, even slightly, it would be my undoing. "I do want to tell you... to tell you everything... but I can't, not now. Not after... this." It had been a long day for both of us. I drew a shuddering sigh and let my hand fall from his cheek to his shoulder. "I will though, later," I promised to placate him. "This is just not the right time. I can't deal with it right now, and neither can you."

I looked up at him, my eyes conveying unguarded sincerity; and I looked up at him because maybe, _maybe_ if he read the expression in my eyes, he wouldn't so lightly discard what I said. "Your kindness is... is unparalleled, Angel; that you would think of _me_ when you've just traversed an emotional desert back into some dreadfully painful years... Oh Angel, I so hope I've helped," I went on fervently, shaking my head and gently rubbing at his shoulder. "That's what I mean... the real you is beautiful, and it's so much easier to give when you aren't hindered by... all this... clutter."

He regarded me with a lingering, curious glance… then nodded and looked away. He was disappointed, and I knew it. "Alright, Violar. But I'm not going to let you forget that I want to hear about it someday. Deal?"

It was my turn to be uncertain. Part of the reason he'd put forth the offer was so that we could be on equal footing with each other: He'd taken the chance to be vulnerable to me, and it wasn't fair if I weren't willing to do the same.

But I _was_ willing. It was just... more than I was ready to handle; taking on his burdens as well as my own. Besides that, once we started digging, who knew what I'd discover about myself? The prospect was frightening. And yet... I was willing to go through it, if Angel wanted to help me that badly. It was going to be awful, but I knew that this was the path to restoration. I'd welcome that help, and right gladly.

I smiled and looked down, pleased and a little embarrassed at the same time. "Deal."

I glanced up at him, but I had to look away before his curious expression got to me. It was piercing, and it made me want to give in and tell him everything, regardless of the consequences. _Now is NOT the time,_ I told myself firmly, and that was that... sort of.

And then Angel was all done being coddled.

Giving his tear tracks a final swipe with the heel of his palm, he drew a deep sigh, as if he was a little frustrated with himself and had had enough crying for one day. He flashed me a warm smile, then turned his attention to the half-demolished feast on the blanket beside us. "I suppose we're pretty much done here."

We'd been done with the food for quite awhile, but I felt as if there was a deeper meaning to that phrase than an idle remark about breakfast. He wanted this to be over, _now_.

I relinquished him regretfully, letting him slip out of my arms. With a sigh, I shivered and retreated into my own sort of shell, wrapping my arms around myself to compensate for lost warmth. Angel rose to his feet with a groan, a little sore and stiff from sitting for too long, and he flared his huge white wings - which acted cramped, somehow. Their movements weren't as graceful and flowing as usual - yes, that was the difference, I realized. There was the slightest jerkiness to them, and one drooped a little lower than the other.

In a moment Angel became completely self-conscious and self-absorbed. With a frown, he grabbed a napkin and scrubbed his hands with it before reaching up to fix his blonde hair, ruffled from my ministrations and his position against my shoulder. Then he picked up a second napkin and passed it over his flushed cheeks while I looked on with a mixture of embarrassment (because I'd caused it) and warm pride (also because I'd caused it).

I was excessively proud of Angel. It took guts to confront his past and break down and cry about it. Crying seemed a weakness, but it wasn't. Crying took courage and humility. This was a lesson I'd only recently learned. Without knowing it, Angel was having a much easier time traversing the same path I'd had to take...

I smiled, and deep warmth settled over my heart as I watched him compose himself. I couldn't help it: Pride welled up in my chest, and it reflected in my expression. If only he knew how I had undergone a similar process, kicking and resisting with all my might... he might laugh. He just might laugh.

Straightening the collar of his expensive burgundy shirt, he addressed me. "Do I look okay?"

I chuckled softly. "Angel, you look wonderful," I started to say, and I touched his cheek just as he suddenly remembered the small spattering of blood on his wing from the feather he'd plucked earlier. He whipped around and attacked that with the napkin as well.

Abruptly I realized how _dishonest_ that overly nice assessment of him sounded and I hastened to explain myself. "I mean... granted, you could use a little cleaning up, and your shirt needs ironing, and a splash of water to rinse away the tear streaks would improve your appearance, but you look years younger, Angel." I beamed a smile of pride and warmth at him. "It's as if a great weight has lifted from you. It's not gone, but the burden is somewhat lessened. That's what it seems like to me." Greatly heartened by my own observations, I relaxed enough to add lightly, "Besides that, you can't look any worse than _me_." I chuckled softly and lifted a hand over an unexpected yawn.

Angel dabbed away a few more times at his white feathers, then stood back to observe his wings - the real cause of that afternoon's discussion. "God, I'm so tired… I feel like I'd benefit from a short flight, but I don't think I'm capable of it just yet." Even as he spoke, he spread his wings anyway, letting the wind play through the feathers in a kind of grounded flight. I transferred my gaze from sixteen feet of white feathers to Angel's blue eyes. Suddenly he closed the distance between us and pressed another tender kiss to my cheek.

For an instant I was startled, and then I warmed all over, and capturing his neck in a hug, I kissed him beside the bridge of his nose - just as he'd done to me earlier. And then I released him again and smiled up at him, grateful that my tears had run dry. I was in an awfully fragile state and Angel was having an effect on me that wasn't helping one bit.

"I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for me since we met in the city," Angel was saying. The warmth evaporated and I paled when I realized what was coming. "Your kindness and compassion are staggering. I don't think I could ever thank you enough, truly. If you owed me anything for the day I saved your life, you've repaid it ten-fold. Though my emotional scars will never completely fade, you've managed to make them a little less visible. I am in _your_ debt." His formal background bent him in a bow before me, his wings folded yet not flat against his back. I was utterly mortified, but I gracefully inclined my head to him out of noble centaurian habit, feeling the walls of fear closing in on me again.

I couldn't meet his eyes anymore. I clamped a hand over the lower half of my face and shuddered as he thanked me profusely for something I hadn't even done. What had I done, exactly? Not much: Upset him over his drinking habits and pointed out that he wasn't _truly_ free and prodded him with the fact that he hid himself behind a mask and, in the midst of ripping him apart with words, I'd called him beautiful and gave him the name Little One. I made Warren Kenneth Worthington III _cry_. Even now, looking back over the last hour, I mentally cringed as the reality of all I had done began to set in. What a miracle it was that he didn't seem to find it at all condescending, because I hadn't meant it to be; or maybe he didn't notice... for now. What if he remembered it all later, when his head was clearer, and took offense?

Never mind that; my first concern was Angel. I gripped his hand and gazed up at him earnestly. "Angel, please, don't bow to me. I don't deserve it. All I have done was offer you the same chance I was given, unworthy though I proved myself of it; and it was my great joy to, to be allowed to be that emissary of Aslan this morning..." I was smiling again out of pure delight, just thinking of the gift I'd been given and the opportunity I had to share it. _Forgiveness. Unconditional love. A fresh start. A new life._ There is nothing better I could have offered him, even if I were an heiress and ruled a realm similar to Angel's.

A little thrill ran through me, and I squeezed his hand. "He _loves_ you, Angel. He wants those scars to go away more than I do. Trust me... I know. I really do know." Conviction infused my words. Abruptly I stopped there and bit my lip, bringing my next words - and thoughts - to an abrupt halt. My gaze faltered and drifted downwards. With the relaxed, sleepy and somewhat euphoric mood I was in, who knew _what_ I was liable to blurt out. I'd certainly done enough blurting for one afternoon, and I reined myself in, determined to hang onto whatever semblance of centaurian dignity I had left. All I did was shake my head and finish quietly, "You don't owe me anything, Angel." I let his hand fall free from mine.

Fortunately Angel was kind enough to not press the issue any further, for which I was silently grateful. He knew firsthand how embarrassing praise - especially _unwarranted_ praise - could be. Straightening, Angel sighed and changed the subject. "Someday, when I have a kid, I hope I don't mess him up as badly as I've been messed up." That brought a smile to his lips, but it was a smile to mask a very real fear.

I rolled my eyes heavenwards and ran two fingers hard over my forehead, groaning. This ridiculous carnival of self-deprecation had to end! Then I shifted gears; there were issues to be dealt with later, obviously, and Pair Caravel wasn't built in a day. "The thing you have to worry about most with children is if _they'll_ mess _you_ up, Angel. All those feathers leave you extremely vulnerable to little grabby fingers."

That drew a chuckle from him. Laughing goodnaturedly, my own mood lightened by my adopted demeanor, I again sat back and inhaled deeply of the fresh morning air, which was taking on a richer texture as the day progressed, while Angel cleaned up the remains of our picnic.

There was a kind of mutual - albeit unspoken - agreement between us to talk of nothing serious for the remainder of the afternoon. Our masks were again firmly in place, which I felt was... strange, after what we'd just been through. Superfluous and unnecessary actually. We'd already proven to each other that neither was willing to hurt the other. But being vulnerable like that was rare for me and completely new for him, and we were both nervous. I think we needed that return to more familiar behaviors just for sanity's sake.

Kneeling in the grass, Angel collected all the trash and tossed it in the basket. I let him clean up the picnic on his own. I was usually a hardworking centaur, and it pained me even now to let him do this; but I knew he would feel some sense of continued obligation if I did, so I stayed put, promising myself I'd make it up to him later.

While he worked, he rambled, and I was more than happy to let him do the talking for awhile. "You know, when I was living at home, I never had to do this sort of thing. There was a maid for every room in the estate, and gardeners, and cooks, and whatever else you can think of. Surprisingly, I'm not all that uncomfortable with being waited on, because that's how I grew up. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten how to pull my own weight. Especially around mutants who know I have a reputation for being a spoiled rich kid. It's important to undermine _that_ as soon as possible."

I smiled placidly. _I_ knew better. He didn't come off lazy at all. Suitably impressed by the description of his lavish lifestyle, I lifted my eyebrows and gazed at him with all the interest I could muster in my sleepy condition. "Well you're doing a fine job of it. You haven't come off to _me_ as spoiled in the slightest. And I have been around other members of royal houses quite a bit. You're not at all like them. Only one of the French monarchs comes close to you, but he was not made a king until he endured almost unbearable suffering and languished in a prison wearing an iron mask for several years. But that's a long story for another day." I didn't want to bring Angel down; I knew how much he cared about what other people were going through and I was unwilling to burden him with tales - especially not right then - so I hurriedly glossed it over. "Philippe was remarkably personable, and very kind. Most royalty, I find, lacks a third dimension personalitywise, with rare exception."

Scrambling quickly for another topic, I picked up on an earlier thread of conversation and added, "I don't know who Ororo is."

Angel picked up the picnic basket and held it loosely under one arm, climbing to his feet and spreading his wings slightly for balance. "Ororo is… well, she's sort of our leader around here now. You must not have met her yet, because if you had, you'd remember her. Some people say she isn't really a mutant at all, but an African goddess," he laughed. "She certainly looks the part. It's rare to find a woman that stunning." With another sigh, his expression shifted to one of slight distress and I thought I detected a hint of regret. "I guess I shouldn't use her real name like that. I mean, Hank's the only one who does, and he knows her better than I do. When I first came to live at the mansion, I had no idea what the rules were about that… about using codenames versus 'real' names. Mine caught on very quickly because it's romantic, and because so many mutants hate my dad that they didn't like using his name. But am I really expected to call Hank 'Beast'? Or Kurt 'Nightcrawler'? I think not… Anyway, forgive my rambling. I must be boring you by now. Shall we venture back inside?"

Wearily I nodded and picked myself out of the grass, unfolding my legs and standing up on shaky knees that reminded me of an unsteady foal's. I was exhausted clear through - emotionally and physically - and ordinarily I would have compensated by shifting into my centaur form for greater emotional and physical stability. But I didn't. I felt... safe with Angel, and some part of me wished for a greater kinship to these mutants. With feet instead of hooves, I could partially accomplish just that.

I brushed debris from my skirt and glanced longingly back at the mansion. Abruptly my body went stiff as I affected an incognito stretching pose: I felt sore and achy all over. Spending a morning wallowing in tears could do that to a person. I let out a little whimper, then half-stumbled to Angel's side, putting an arm around his back because his hands were taken up, again, with the picnic basket. We began the short trip back to the mansion, leaving behind that little patch of land where a war had been fought and old wounds had been revisited. I looked back just once, expecting - and almost wanting - some kind of permanent marker to commemorate that afternoon. But there was no evidence that any altercation had taken place.

Something special had happened there and it deserved to never be forgotten.

At least... I wouldn't forget. Something inside of me had changed. And although I wasn't entirely sure _what_ had changed, I had an inkling: An inkling I wasn't eager to accept, so I pushed it away and belatedly responded to his last ramble.

"The last thing you are is boring, Angel. Please, tell me _more_. I learn so much when you talk about your world, and mutants, and... everything really. Besides that, you're _funny_." I grinned, meaning that statement as a compliment of the highest caliber, and he glanced at me with a smile. He seemed to take it as one. "Anyway, I should be delighted to make the acquaintance of the Lady Ororo, and see for myself her legendary beauty. For _you_ to speak so highly of her... I'm quite eager, now." He was a connoisseur of feminine beauty, after all. "As for nicknames? Angel is an easy name, unlike Beast or Nightcrawler. Angel almost seems more natural than Warren, somehow. Not that I dislike your name," I added quickly but sincerely, glancing sideways at him. "Warren _is_ very nice. I still defer to your preference though."

A little smile hovered over Angel's lips, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere - and wherever they were, I was not invited. Lowering my eyes, I smiled to myself. I was alright with that. With a sigh I looked around at the world I'd temporarily ignored for the past few hours.

We made slow progress across the green courtyard. The sun was warm against my skin, and there was something restorative and refreshing about the fall breezes blowing through my black hair and Angel's white feathers. I wasn't thinking about anything much: There weren't any pressing things to think about right then. I was just... happy. Deeply, truly, thoroughly happy. Perhaps, when one isn't used to feeling that way, one treasures the emotion all the more when one runs across it.

I shifted a little closer to Angel's side, gazing at the impressive fountain as we passed it, and he smiled at my obvious admiration. For a moment I met his blue eyes and smiled, then I became fascinated with the way my brown skirt brushed over the springy turf and whispered in my wake. "I'll speak to Ororo at the earliest opportunity," I murmured softly, my demeanor gentled by his continued kindness to me. It was an incredible imposition on him and his highly-valued privacy, allowing me to stay in his room, but he'd been more than accommodating - far beyond the call of any host's duty. "I don't suppose you really want three people in your room all the time... so I'll be happy to talk with her and arrange this. But..." I tilted my head back to look at him. "I'll still come down early and button your shirts. If... if you like."

That set Angel to laughing. His wings gave a brief flutter, as if in amusement. "Of course you're always, _always_ welcome to button my shirts. God knows I'm not gonna ask _Jay_ to do it."

I pretended absolute horror at the very idea. "Angel, how _can_ you say such things? Jay! Buttoning your shirts?! Aslan have mercy. He would probably mix up the buttons and mangle the rows and make a horrid mess of the job." I gave a firm nod and lifted my chin to a superior angle. "Don't let him." But I didn't maintain the silly facade for long, and I again allowed myself the luxury of laughter - which Angel participated in again.

Having put in my plug for the sake of my own job security, I felt better - even though buttoning Angel's shirt was a ridiculous reason to remain at the mansion. An attachment to Xavier's was already growing inside of me, and the promise I'd made Angel - to never leave - was one I badly wanted to keep. I gathered my skirt in one hand as we mounted the steps, and I lifted my gaze to the ivy-covered walls of the school, feeling a thrill of an emotion suspiciously resembling a true sense of belonging.

We were companionably silent as we entered the mansion, and we stopped by the kitchen to drop off the picnic basket before heading straight for Angel's room. Angel opened the door and preceded my entrance, and Jay was nowhere to be seen - again. Angel gave a tired mumble and collapsed face-down on the bed, and I spared him a sympathetic glance before turning to close the door.

Then I paused, my hand still on the doorknob. "Angel," I said quietly, "thank you... for trusting me."

Swallowing a little, I turned and saw Angel lying as he had fallen - sprawled out on his stomach - and fast asleep, with his wings only half-tucked against his back and slightly askew to either side.

I bit my lip against a fresh rise of sympathy. _Poor fellow..._

I visited his linen closet and procured a thick blue quilt which was, as I'd hoped, a spare. Returning to Angel's side, I spread it gently over him, pulling the top corners to cover his shoulders and avoiding his wings in the process. Then I carefully knelt into the carpet and settled myself at his side, pulling the other blanket around my own shoulders.

But I didn't go to sleep right away. Exhausted as I was, there was a lot on my mind. Folding my arms over the mattress, I rested my chin on my wrists and gazed at him, watching him sleep. His steady breathing - the rise and fall of it - reminded me of the Eastern Ocean's flow and ebb on the shores of Cair Paravel, and listening to it had the same soothing effect on me.

What an afternoon it had been. So much had happened in the space of a few hours that it felt as if days, even weeks, had passed, not merely a morning into an afternoon. I was a different centaur than the one who had showed up in this world the day before, a bewildered traveler lost in downtown New York.

Worries that had dogged my heels all afternoon at last caught up with me.

I tried to be tough. I tried to be perfect. I tried to be a warrior, but most of the time I felt I was acting someone else's part in some grandiose play called Life.

Who was I, exactly? For the first time, I realized I didn't want to know... because I was _afraid_ to know. Sometimes it was easier to live someone else's life. And now, without even trying, Angel had somehow caused cracks in this stone walls I'd built around my heart to shield me from the world and all its pain, and some of who I really was had begun to show through. I didn't even know _how_ he did it, and because I didn't know, I couldn't fortify my defenses to compensate. I trembled to think of the promise I'd made him, to tell him my story, because when I did, those walls might come crashing down... and then I couldn't pretend anything anymore.

I almost regretted that promise. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. On the contrary: I'd never have told my story to someone I didn't trust. Angel had effortlessly broken through all my natural defenses and stood, even now, on the threshold of my heart - and I had neither will nor reason to stop him. Strangely enough, after only a day, trust wasn't an issue. It was just that... Angel's influence was a powerful one, and if this was what he could do to me when he _wasn't_ trying, imagine what he was capable of if his full attention were directed on me and my past.

Unlike Angel, I didn't have the blessing of blindness. I knew full well what was coming. He'd unwittingly stepped into the trap I'd laid for him, so to speak; I was going to be walking into it with open eyes and full knowledge of what would happen to me. I never disintegrated emotionally like that on purpose, and that's exactly what I was contemplating doing. I knew why I'd made that promise, but now, staring over the precipice, I balked at the leap I was about to take. I'd seen what it did to the courageous, imperturbable Angel. And I was just a centaur _pretending_ to be stronger than I really was. Was it any wonder that fear coiled tightly around my heart like a boa constrictor, intent on squeezing the life out of it?

One of Angel's wings drooped further over the side of the bed, and I impulsively raised it with one hand, moving carefully so as not to wake him, and huddled shivering beneath it like a frightened chick. The feathers were surprisingly warm and insulating, and some of the daylight was blocked out, casting me in shadow. I let out a deep sigh, and my turbulent emotions eased into calm. My eyelids grew oppressively heavy, and with a little whimper I dropped my head onto the mattress.

For a moment more I lifted my eyes to his face and studied him. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and I wondered if he was dreaming. One final memory from that afternoon floated to the surface of my exhaustion-intoxicated mind:

_"Violar... am I worth saving?"_

I closed my eyes as a soft sniffle escaped me. "Yes," I whispered. "You're worth... everything."

When I woke up again, Angel was gone.


	17. Fly Away Free

It's not fair to be sad because my patient is healed.

But I am. The compassionate healer in me is warring with something lacking definition in my heart.

I'm delighted Angel is back on his wings, so to speak. Of course. Who wouldn't be? Especially when he gave up his beautiful gift of flight on my behalf, and nearly forfeited his life to save mine from those unknown assassins on the streets of New York.

I'm still burned up that I didn't... circle back to help him or something. I could have. Possibly I should have. I hate the phrase "I was just following orders" when used as an excuse for actions leaving a comrade to face danger alone, but in this case, what else do I have to explain what I've done? There's no other reason I didn't go back to help Angel. I could have raced around the block and come up on the scene from behind...

I'm infuriated to admit that I didn't because... I was just following orders.

The thought that he could have died for my sake chokes me up, even now, and if I don't stop there I'll end up in tears again. Why didn't I think of the alternatives? I had options. Why did I simply do what he told me without question?

There are answers, but I don't particularly like them. I admit, I was a little... unnerved. Being followed with unknown-but-definitely-not-friendly intent upon entering a strange new world does not give one warm fuzzies. I still could have handled the situation despite that. There is also the fact that Angel is persuasive, and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and I let him take the lead because it's as if he belongs in the lead. That in itself is odd, because I enjoy being the one in the lead, the one in control, the one to dictate who goes where and who does what. It's not that I like being in power over others. Rather, it's simply that most of the time I feel I'll do a better job in a position of leadership than most people.

I didn't feel like that about Angel. He's a better leader than I am. I trusted him right from the start, and I know I was right to trust him. The moment I saw him drag his wounded wing out of that cab, that trust hardened to granite. My confidence, where Angel is concerned, is absolute and unshakable.

But something else happened to me that I can't quite explain. When I helped Angel stumble into his room and tended the strange injury that caused him so much pain, what stirred in me was more than the simple pity of a healer for her patient. If I hadn't been half-frantic with worry over his well-being and immersed to the point of agony in a pit of guilt, I would have actually enjoyed the experience: Caring for Angel would bring joy to anyone's heart, I believe.

The emotion goes far beyond anything I've felt while tending other wounded creatures, men and centaurs in Narnia. In their minds, healing was my duty to them, and they accepted my help without question; they thanked me, of course, and I nodded and moved on. With Angel, things were different. He reacted to every little thing I did for him. It was as if he'd never had a pillow tucked beneath his head before, or had his hair stroked, or been covered in a softer blanket. When he looked up at me with such warm gratefulness in his light blue eyes, I could have melted irreparably on the spot. Even when he showed no outward sign, what I felt from him was indescribably wonderful. I knew then what it was to be more than just a healer in a job capacity, but to be a mother in a life capacity. More than duty, more than guilt, more than mere compassion compelled me to do these things for Angel.

My very soul would have cried in protest if I hadn't been allowed to care for him.

The trouble is, now that he is healed and his wings are beautiful and strong again, the undeniable urge to care for him remains. I don't know what to do about it. So much of me still longs to place my hand against his cheek, or run my fingers through his feathers, or bring him a glass of water and let him sip a little at a time - just to see that smile again, to see him look at me like that again.

But I... I can't. I have no reason to. And it actually hurts me to think I might never have a chance like that again.

I'm trying to content myself with the knowledge that Angel is no longer in pain, and that he didn't die when he could've, and that he can fly once again - which I think may be the most important thing in the world to him. This theory was further solidified when I saw his expression, and heard - nay, felt - his rippling boyish laughter while we were in flight, and the pure joy and exuberance and wild abandon was transferred in part to me. I think he was holding back though. He must've thought I'd be frightened if he performed too many of his usual antics - I say "usual" without any tangible evidence to back up that theory besides pure intuition. He did take us into that heartstopping headlong dive straight to the ground at the beginning of the trip, and I was so thrilled that I was laughing breathlessly even while we were descending and the grass was rising up to meet us at an alarming rate. Now that was living!

Some of this could be due to the fact that I'm a centaur, and I have two stomachs to get butterflies in - a phenomenon I can feel even while in my human form.

So... I don't know what to do, really. Perhaps the answers will become clear to me, in time. For now, I'll try to treat him the way my mother showed me regarding the butterflies I loved to chase and capture when I was but a foal: "Open your hands and let them fly away free, Zephina," she used to say to me.

So fly away free, Angel. And... thank you.

With love,

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	18. Zebra Stripes and Soda Cans

No one heard the intruder at midnight - not myself, or Angel, or Jay. He slipped in without a sound and conducted his mischief under the cover of darkness, and just as silently he snuck away while we snored symphonically on.

Or, perhaps the two winged mutants did. I don't snore. Anyways...

I slept sitting up, as always, fully armored and ready for war. When the first rays of dawn crept past the curtains and awakened me from the land of dreams, I leapt up with my fists balled, ready for action.

"Who do you think you are, Nogrimmite?! You'll not win this time! Your dark cape of thunder will not avail you!"

I began to thrash my invisible nemesis to a sorry pulp before I blinked away the foggy remnants of the dream, shook my head to clear it, and trotted off to the mirror. It was high enough off the floor that I could only see my hairdo, which I smoothed into a semblance of sanity with my fingers before leaving Angel's room and heading for the kitchen.

A few young mutant students passed me on the way, round-eyed and staring. I frowned and stared right back, wondering if I'd woken up in the right dimension. Everything seemed a little odd and off-balance that day. I was glad to arrive in the kitchen, where everything seemed neat and normal. Except gravity: I opened the fridge and a soda promptly tumbled out. I reached down to pick it up... and froze.

My eyes fixed on an inky black ringlet circling my ankle. And on another a little higher.

_By the mane... I'm still dreaming._

There were tiger stripes painted all the way up to my knee, and more up to my shoulder. On both legs. In fact... everywhere there was hide, there were black stripes. Slowly, I rose up, craning around to survey my strange transformation from a respectable centaur into a weird golden zebra.

Suddenly shock gave way to fierce vengeance. I exploded and galloped down the hall, shouting: _"KURT WAGNER! KURT WAGNER, YOU TROUBLESOME BLUE TELEPORTER, WHERE ARE YOU HIDING AT?! THIS DEED SHALL NOT GO UNPUNISHED!"_

I burst into helpless laughter and half-staggered, half-cantered away to roll in the courtyard, ridding myself of black frosting in the dewy morning grass while a glorious sunrise sang the praises of Aslan and birds celebrated the morning with bright voices and aerial acrobatics. I felt good all over, I realized, wiping the last smudges of black frosting from my coat with a thrilled smile. What a wonderful day it was shaping up to be!

Then I returned to the kitchen to plot my revenge.

The fridge was still wide open. I'd forgotten about it actually. I eyed the soda can still rolling around on the floor and prodded it with my hoof, brooding thoughtfully. Abruptly I was struck by an idea, and I felt an evil grin spread over my face.

The pantry was a wonderful resource of prank supplies, and this time, I zeroed in on exactly what I wanted. I carted off boxes of six-pack aluminum cans to Angel's empty room - Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew, Diet Coke, Pepsi and the like. All day long I methodically drank them down to the last ten percent, which I purposely left in the bottom of each can. By the end of my drinking spree, I was wondering if I'd made a little mistake: I had a monumental sugar high and my rambunctious tail wouldn't sit still. I felt as restless as a whole band of caged mustangs, and I seriously wondered if I'd ever be able to sleep again.

Kurt was away all day, I found out. Heehee: All the better. I found a small cart with wheels and "borrowed" it, stacked my soda cans on it, pushed it down the hall in preparation... and waited until I was sure he was back at the mansion and in his room. Grinning to myself, I wheeled the cans right to his doorstep and stacked them neatly in front of his door, using the extra weight at the bottom of each can as ballast so they wouldn't simply topple over.

I set the last can in place and began to tiptoe - er, tiphoof - away, but suddenly I remembered Kurt's reputation for pranking and realized he'd never know who was responsible for this retaliation if I didn't make it obvious. Thinking quickly, I pulled a length of thread from my battleworn tunic and wound it around one of the cans in the middle, fixing it securely to the doorknob. Then I lifted the top can from the stack, knocked on Kurt's door, hastily replaced the can and backed off to watch the fun, my two stomachs full of bubbly fizz and butterflies.

I could hardly contain myself when I heard his footsteps thumping faintly in the direction of the door. Judging by the unhurried gait Kurt had adopted, I knew he wasn't suspecting a thing. Totally giddy with anticipation, I clapped a hand over my mouth to stay the wild giggles threatening to sneak out early.

Then it happened. I had the perfect vantage point and saw the whole thing: The door flew open, the wall of tin cans crashed down, and blinking in the middle of the metallic chaos was The Incredible Nightcrawler himself! Joy shot through me: Kurt's expression of shocked bewilderment was priceless! He looked around wildly, but before he could recover his senses, I wheeled and galloped madly down the hall, my white tail a high plumed banner of victory.

Expecting him to come flying out of his room in hot pursuit, I didn't slow down until I had run a good distance down the hall. Then I glanced over my shoulder, skidded to a halt, and listened. And heard a sound that was music to my ears: Uncontrollable, helpless laughter - gales and gales and gales of it.

That set me off. I gave a wild squeal and let loose all the giggles that had been pent up and straining for freedom since I'd first conceived my wicked plot. I broke into a canter and pranced neatly away, picking my hooves high and positively glowing, shivering all over. I could feel the delight gleaming in my eyes; I couldn't hide it. I'd never pranked anyone before, and oh, such exquisite emotion followed!

I'm addicted now. I can't wait to prank him or someone else again. To be the cause of such laughter was exciting and gratifying in ways I can't begin to describe. What deliciously innocent fun! Feeling absolutely on top of the world, I went out to the courtyard to watch the sunset by myself. I couldn't keep the shining grin from my face.

I think my first prank was a smash hit. No pun intended.

No one is safe, so start praying.

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	19. Of Coffeemakers and Mutants

Someone told me that coffeemakers were "ridiculously simple" to use. Perhaps they are, for someone born into a world crawling with strange technology. But for me, even "ridiculously simple" coffeemakers are a total mystery.

With the carafe held aloft in one hand, I leaned over awkwardly to study the filter apparatus, while the counter beside me was nothing short of a disaster: Soft white filters, silver spoons, and miscellaneous scoops in varying sizes were scattered haphazardly about, and the Folger's canister was surrounded by brown mountains of spilled coffee beans. All of this offended my inherent neat sensibilities. A lone coffee mug bore silent testament to the fact that I hoped to somehow, miraculously, turn this horrible mess into something to drink.

At this most awkward of moments, a mutant I hadn't met before also decided to fetch herself a mug of liquid caffeine. I was concentrating, and I didn't hear her come in.

Her voice startled me. "I think I'll come back later..."

I whirled, all four hooves in frantic, fluid motion, and nearly dropped the carafe. I dove low to catch it mid-fall. Suddenly what sounded like a gunshot went off behind me, sending me darting forward. Looking backwards, I found a shattered mug on the floor: My disobedient whip of a tail had dislodged it from the counter, and now it was a mug no more.

Once the chaos was over, I stood perfectly still, clutching the carafe, recovering from shock and my runaway heartbeat. I gave a little smile of slowly-dawning embarrassment, then chuckled and glanced at the lady. She was tall, with dark hair and interesting glasses, and a neat, black outfit. Everything about her radiated order and perfection: The opposite of what she must be witnessing in the kitchen at this very moment.

Sheepishly, I chuckled. "I... I've never done this before, see," I explained, drawing myself upright to even greater height and brushing imaginary dust from my leather jerkin (a habit of mine, which I've recently become aware of). "Forgive my invasion of your galley, and I'm dreadfully sorry about the mug." As an afterthought, I inclined my head politely, as if I weren't standing in the midst of a catastrophe I'd caused at all and rather meeting someone on a nice day in Narnia. "I am called Violar, by the way."

I doubt the Professor will let me give any presentations on public relations, if this story ever circulates back to him.

The woman stifled a laugh and simply nodded. "It's a bit obvious that you are... out of your element," she surmised, but kindly. "I'm Tessa, and this -" she held up her mug "-is my cup. I think that one-" she nodded her chin at the broken remains on the floor "-was just an extra."

I was so immensely relieved that it was almost comical, even to me. I was a guest in this house - alright, mansion - and I'd just caused a lot of trouble in the kitchen. Such infractions could be dealt with in a number of ways, according to the whims of said mansion's residents. To their credit, one thing about every mutant I'd met so far was that their attitude problems did not include heartlessness towards anyone - humans or mutants. Or in my case, centaurs.

With the possible exception of Pyro.

"Good!" I burst out. Then I took a deep breath, settled down, and smiled. "I'll try not to break it," I promised seriously. "But I think you'd better make your own... coffee. This is not at all as easy to make as it sounded. If this is your world's idea of 'ridiculously simple'," I put in before a laugh overtook my words.

Tessa nodded, fetched a broom and dustpan from the closet, and began sweeping up the debris while keeping a companionable conversation going. Tessa is an amazingly efficient woman, and that was made obvious very quickly.

"I prefer to make my own coffee anyway," she was saying. "Most people around here wouldn't know a good cup of coffee if it walked up and introduced itself to them."

My world stopped. I blinked once. I gave vent to a little incredulous laugh. "Your _drinks_ walk up to you and _introduce_ themselves?!" My imagination was already conjuring the sight of neat lines of debonair mugs entering the dining room, bowing elegantly, radiating all the sophistication and class of French waiters, before hopping onto the table and readily accepting their fate. Was it only the dishes, or the food too? "Of all wonders! What a world this is, where the very _fare_ is polite even in the face of imminent consumption!"

Tessa stopped sweeping and looked at me quizzically, then measuringly, as if trying to see through me. I looked back at her, expecting some continued grandiose description of New York feasting traditions.

"No, coffee doesn't talk," she said finally. "Never mind... it was just an expression." I couldn't help being disappointed, and she went on. "I only meant to say that I like my coffee a particular way and most of the other coffee drinkers around here have a different preference." Shaking her head, she went back to her sweeping. "I apologize for the confusion."

I had to run all this through my mind and erase the new notions I'd installed there seconds ago. I admit, I can be rather quick in leaping to conclusions. Once I'd cleared away the last remains of my misconception, I folded my limbs and joined Tessa on the floor, picking up larger chunks of porcelain between thumb and forefinger and setting them carefully in Tessa's dustpan.

"There for a minute, I was beginning to envision a sort of... _enchanted_ society," I told Tessa, grinning.

"I'm glad I clarified that for you," she answered, smiling. Despite her cold outward demeanor, there was a genuine warmth about her, and I greatly appreciated it. "Honestly, I find very little in this world that is really enchanted."

I considered that. "It's fairly normal," I agreed. "All except for that _thing_ we're supposed to concoct drinks with." I shot an accusing glare to the monstrosity on the counter. "Simple, my hoof! My idea of simple is an open campfire, a pot of boiling water, and a few ingredients for herbal tea." I added with faux worry, "I wonder what's considered _complex_ around here."

Tessa didn't answer right away. She stood up, sent the contents of her dustpan crashing into the garbage can, then put away the broom. Next she opened a cabinet door, plucked a canister from one of the shelves, and handed it unceremoniously to me.

"Here. If you want simple coffee, try instant. It tastes terrible in comparison, but all you have to do is add a couple spoonfuls to hot water. It's hard to find something easier than that."

I stared at the canister. A picture of a white cup filled with steaming black liquid graced the front. _How... appetizing,_ I thought, automatically coupling that image with Tessa's sordid description. I held the canister gingerly. "That's alright, Tessa. I think I'll just... go _very_ simple and drink water."

I set the canister on the counter, busily cleared away the evidence of the past half-hour and my failed endeavor - spoons, coffee filters, spilled coffee beans, and the Folger's container. I took a fresh mug to the sink and filled it to the brim with cold, clear liquid, grateful for the reassuring knowledge that at least _one_ thing functioned normally in this extraordinary environment.

There's still a lot for me to learn before a Narnian can get around properly in a place like this.

"So," I began conversationally, turning around and crossing one arm comfortably under my other elbow to sip at my water, "I suppose you would also be a mutant."

Tessa nodded and set about making coffee. I observed her carefully and wished I'd left the ingredients on the counter for her, but I noticed she didn't choose Folger's brand coffee. Whatever she selected was unmarked, and her practiced motions were swift and graceful.

"That would be correct. My mutation provides great mental acuity, so there is no physical sign of it. Unlike some of us, I can walk around in society without getting strange looks..." She laughed, and I had the odd feeling that while she was immersed in her task, she was fully aware of _me_ at the same time. I couldn't help being amazed. "Well, except for these," she went on, indicating the curious tattoos beneath each eye.

In truth, I hadn't really noticed them before she pointed them out. I leaned in for a closer look. They were twin black marks running from her eye to her cheek on either side of her face. Then I stood back, suitably impressed. "I've never seen anything quite like them."

Tessa sighed. "They weren't my idea."

My eyes narrowed momentarily at her remark. I got the distinct impression that those tattoos saddened her, or perhaps brought back a painful memory or two. Had she been forced to carry those tattoos? I wanted to ask her about it, but I had the feeling Tessa didn't want to talk about it more than she had to. I nodded and let it go.

Then I chuckled wryly. "You know, I'm amazed. Being mutants, you're all so different, yet from what Logan tells me the world views all of you as some kind of conglomerate. And then automatically puts me in the same category, because I'm not normal by their standards either."

Tessa closed her eyes, inhaling the strong aroma of brewing coffee as it dripped methodically into the carafe. "Logan's right, in a sense. Humans tend to fear what they don't understand. So anything that seems freakish or odd is considered bad. In that, we are all lumped together."

I stared thoughtfully into the clear depths of my water. "Then again," I decided slowly, "the same logic could be applied to those we call _them_. They are ordinary humans in our eyes. We think them all alike, but sheep to other sheep no doubt look different."

Tessa nodded, equally thoughtful. "While my comments were generic and might have seemed stereotypical, I don't lump all humans in a category of them versus us. I've found some humans to be very understanding, and prejudices are only going to continue to create and enlarge the barriers that have been erected. Look at the facts - Earth's history is filled with violence and emotional devastation whenever we allow our prejudices to determine our actions."

"So is Narnian history," I responded. "And I have met some of these sympathetic humans you speak of. The fellow who helped me find the mansion was extremely nervous, but he knew of us, and he obviously thought me a mutant. Then again, who wouldn't," I observed, whisking my tail - careful not to hit any dishes this time. "He was hinting that there were 'others like me' here, and in my limited knowledge I thought he spoke of centaurs. I was quite eager to meet others of my own kind," I admitted with a chuckle. "Come to find out, after speech with just a handful of them, you really _are_ my own kind... just not in the way I expected you to be."

My final statement resonated long after I spoke it aloud. _You are my own kind..._ Angel's earlier discussion with me had hinted that there might be more to me than simply centaur and human. I didn't even know how to classify myself, really - a centaur, who shifted into a human. Was I now equal parts centaur and human? How could I be more of a centaur than I was a human, since I could turn into either at whim? Was I more centaur than human only because I kept that form longer than my human form? Or... did it even matter at all?

The thought was more than a little disconcerting. Now another hypothesis intruded and confused me even more: If I had the mutant gene, that might explain everything. Maybe I was born... a mutant. A mutant centaur. In Narnia.

Tessa soon had her cup of coffee and returned to her Computer Room to work. I finished off my water and left the kitchen with a lot to think about.


	20. A Gift of Dandelions

Logan and Jean were getting married.

I don't know all the details. Hardly any of them, actually. But one night I left Logan in his deep concern for Jean; and the next thing I knew, they were engaged. I hadn't had a chance to meet Jean before I went in search of them, bearing a gift: A lidded wooden box - rather plain, but with a silver inlaid heart engraved with a flying angel. Rather fitting, I thought: Especially now that I knew about angels and their significance in this world.

I found them at last, talking in the lounge with their arms around each other. I wouldn't have interrupted on purpose, but they turned at the sound of my approaching hooves and drew just slightly apart, and there was no backing out then. Logan looked pleased to see me, and Jean Grey was quite beautiful: Dark-haired and relatively tall with a kind, worldly smile, which she bestowed on me. She dressed in mostly black with a fine sense of form and design, and her simple silver jewelry only accentuated her refined style without overpowering it. She radiated inner strength, and her eyes held an oddly captivating twinkle that betrayed sharp intuition and a constant undercurrent of mischief.

Smiling, I entered the room and put a forehoof forward in an elegant bow.

"Congratulations are in order to the both of you," I said warmly, straightening up again. "It's a centaur tradition to give you each a gift, but being a visitor to your world, I don't have much to offer. Only this."

So saying, I held out the box. Logan opened the lid and the couple peered curiously in.

Inside were... dandelions. Two of them. One was a yellow blossom, while the other had gone to seed and was fluffy and round and white. Each were perfect, despite the fact that they were merely dandelions.

Logan smiled indulgently at me, which brought a flush to my cheeks. No doubt he was remembering that I wasn't from this world. I don't think dandelions are a customary engagement present in New York.

"Thanks," Logan said. "It means a lot, really. Believe me, when we start handin' out invitations, you'll be one of the first on the list."

Jean smiled and nodded in agreement, but she let Logan handle the talking.

Feeling a bit foolish, I gracefully inclined my head. "Thank you, Logan. I'd be honored to attend." Sensing he didn't understand the significance of the gift was one thing; but I had to consider whether or not to enlighten him. I decided to expound. "The dandelion is one of the world's most perfect flowers," I told him, in the tone of one who considered herself an authority on the subject - which I do. "In bloom like this one," I indicated the cheerful yellow bloom, "they represent the sun. When they go to seed, like this one," I nodded to the white puffball beside its counterpart, "they resemble the moon. Together, they are... perfection."

I had their full attention. Surprised, I went on. "And when the wind blows the tiny seeds away, they become like stars against the skies. Or, here's another way to look at it: The yellow bloom is you, Logan, and the white flower is like you, Jean. The stars are your children, who will one day grow into radiant new flowers all their own." Logan and Jean gave each other that happy loving smile that couples like to when they're happy about something, and my own smile grew. "This gift, then, is a blessing for the future," I finished.

Logan smiled again. "Like I said, it means a lot... really."

I believed him this time. "If I could have, I'd have done something to preserve the flowers, but I don't know what to put them in," I said apologetically.

Logan gave one of his characteristic shrugs. "Even if they can't be preserved, the thought of you givin' 'em will be."

Sobered by his unusually beautiful words, I executed another upright centaurian bow. "Then it is I who am the recipient of the gift," I replied, deeply honored. "May Aslan... continue... to bless your love." I took two slow steps backwards in preparation to depart and leave them to their conversation. I imagined they had much to speak of; my parents were never able to exhaust a subject, and that was after thirty years of marriage. Logan and Jean were just embarking on their life journey together, so I was sure they must be almost desperate to talk.

In their place, that's how I would be.

Logan nodded and gave me a little wave. "I'll see ya around, V. Thanks again."

I had to laugh at being called "V". I whisked my tail once.

Jean spoke up then. "Thank you so much, honey. We really appreciate the gesture."

"You're welcome, and thank you," I responded with great warmth. "It's awesome to see people find love like this." I turned and headed for the door. "I'll most definitely see you around."

So saying, I broke into a trot and was gone.

It had been a long time since I'd been called "honey", and never by anyone except my mother. I liked Jean immensely, and I could see why Logan felt about her the way he did. Immediately I knew Jean and I would become good friends, but I little dreamed that she would take me personally under her wing and offer to teach me the ways of this world - how to fight, how to dress, how to use modern technology. Very soon, I would be deeply in her debt.

Logan already was.

May dandelions ever bloom in your path.

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	21. A Face Without a Name

There are a lot of nameless mutants in the mansion - nameless in my eyes because I haven't met them properly yet. It was one of those who caught my attention as I trotted down the hall on my way to the library. I had exchanged brief words with him once before, I remembered when I passed his doorway. Suddenly I stumbled to a startled halt. Slowly, I backed up, hoof by hoof, until I could see inside the room again: The kid was laying on his bed, moaning softly and looking very unwell. And he was wounded. There was blood all over him.

"By the mane, good sir, you don't look well," I said, trotting hastily inside the room. He opened his eyes at my voice and looked at me from beneath a great deal of pain. I came to a stop a few feet away. "It's alright," I added in a gentler tone. "My name is Violar, and I am a healer. Will you let me tend your injuries?"

He looked up at me and groaned a little. Moving his head obviously hurt. "I should post a sign on my door that says, 'I'm hurt but please come in and bug me'."

Stunned, I stared at him in blank surprise, standing back on my hooves. "Er..."

He finished answering my question. "No. I'm fine and my injuries are only healed by my immortality."

I pulled back from healer mentality for a moment - which called for immediate action and care of the injuries - and paused to quickly assess him. This young man and Angel were different as oil and water. If he were Angel, he would welcome my attentions. Even if he weren't Angel, he could at least express a tiny amount of gratitude for the offer.

_Talk about arrogance,_ I thought to myself, deeply annoyed. Aloud I said nothing and feigned indifference, knowing that coddling would not work on him at all. Sympathy would be viewed as a sign of weakness and would therefore earn his immediate - and probably permanent - disgust. This young man had serious issues. He didn't just have walls built around himself; he had moats and thorny thickets and reinforced stone fortresses. No use trying to breach any of it - at least not right now.

Once I had that brief realization impressed upon me, I chuckled and looked down momentarily, scuffing a hoof against the floor. Pushing aside my healing instincts, I adopted a much cooler attitude, retrieved my wits and found my voice.

"Forgive me if I am the latest in a string of unwanted interruptions, but it's difficult not to hear someone groaning in pain, and that sort of thing goes straight to the heart of a healer." That seemed safe enough to say, and I grew serious and switched my tail. "I'm getting used to mutants healing themselves, but the healer in me cannot stand it when one is in pain nonetheless. What happened to you?" The longer I looked him over, the more evidence I saw of the severe pounding he'd recently suffered: He was bruised all over, covered in hideous patches of black and blue. I steeled myself against pity and took another bold step into the room. "Do you want anything for the pain?"

The kid had trouble talking. "It was just a friendly scrap with an old friend. Nothing more."

I raised an eyebrow and stared at him in wry amusement. "With friends like that, who needs enemies," I muttered, folding my arms.

He shut his eyes and concentrated on filling his lungs with air. "Really there is nothing that can be done at this moment. I can take the pain and in fact I need to take it in order to become stronger."

I regarded him with confusion and concern, narrowing my eyes at him. "Why do you need pain in order to become stronger?" I asked, thwacking my tail against the door in agitation. "As a healer, it's my _job_ to _keep_ my patients from feeling pain, and you say you thrive on it. That is, quite honestly, hard to believe."

He chuckled and shut his eyes. "Well, mate, you have a lot to learn about people like me. I can tell you haven't met many boxers before either, have you? In order for them to be able to take hits, they have to build themselves up. So what may look like self-imposed abuse by another is actually training."

He was preaching to the choir and completely unaware of it. I said nothing, and he went on. "When you lift weights, you are breaking down your muscles so they are able to build up again. Sometimes in the world, in order to progress, you have to take a small step backwards."

_You don't say._

I smiled slightly and shook my head. "A fighter, then. Like Logan, I suppose?" My right hand dropped to the hilt of one of my swords, and I thoughtfully clenched my fingers around it, caressing the familiar weapon and feeling the surge of power that came from merely touching it. "I am not as ignorant of training as you may suppose," I went on quietly. "But I was not aware that one had to suffer the aftereffects of the training in order to become more proficient in battle."

He smirked again at me. If he weren't injured, I imagined his attitude would be completely infuriating. "If you can't see the benefits of hard work, then maybe you aren't as good of a warrior as you claim to be."

Red ire rose in my chest. I started forward, my mouth open to protest, but my sharp retort died before it could be born. I mentally smacked myself for letting him get the best of my pride. That was his game, and I knew it. Besides that, pain was predictable: It always made the sufferer irrationably cranky. I think he would have gained enjoyment from watching me explode. That was not gratification I was willing to grant him.

I was, however, a healer. I didn't like watching someone needlessly suffer. It was also time to stop preserving _his_ pride, since he obviously had no respect for mine. I lifted my chin. "At least, would you permit..." I halted the request mid-sentence and changed tactics, opting for coercion. He had plenty of pride himself and two could play at this game. "I doubt a glass of water would undermine your efforts," I said with a slight smile.

He turned his gaze to the window and for the first time I noted rain falling steadily, beating against the windowpanes. It was a gray evening and would make for dreadful stargazing. I was brought back to reality when he answered quietly, "Sure, I'll take the water."

Triumph! I cracked my white tail against my hocks and marched past him without looking his direction on the way to the bathroom. Once there, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and studied my own expression of wicked glee. My conscience smote me. What a pathetically small and relatively stupid thing to gloat over. My pride was worse off than I thought, if this is to what depths it had fallen: A token defeat in a minor war of words with a young, hotheaded Son of Adam - and I, a wise centaur of 43 years, was mentally celebrating that. _Way to go, Violar. Now snap out of it!_

Significantly humbler, I emerged with the glass of water in hand, laboriously tucked my long limbs and sat down centaur-fashion beside the bed of the wounded boxer. I slid my hand behind his head and tipped him more upright so he could sip a little, which he did.

"Not many are as good as they claim to be," I said to him quietly while he drank. I was much more subdued than before, having put my ego down in its proper place. "I became a warrior out of necessity and the need to survive in a harsh environment. But I was referring to pain a moment ago, not the benefits of hard work. I do not underestimate the value of pain either," I hastened to add. "But I could very easily alleviate your suffering so you could rest for tomorrow's fight - which I assume you have lined up already, if you're that serious about your training."

His hooded eyes regarded me as he drank the water. It was hard to say if that was his natural expression, or if this irritating half-lidded gaze was brought on by his current condition. _Possibly both_, I mused.

"I don't live to fight, sheila," he said then. "I don't have fights lined up, they mostly just happen. Unlike you, I don't need the Danger Room. I need something else... something more real."

Now he had the nerve to taunt me. I clenched my jaw against his continued ego needling and shrugged indifferently, my whole concentration focused keeping the water flow steady and not drowning him.

"I don't have a choice for the time being," I answered evenly. "Logan has something in his code of honor against hitting a woman, and I haven't found another sparring partner yet. If it weren't for your Danger Room, I would be relegated to practicing my swordform in the courtyard, and that really isn't enough to keep one's skills sharp." I set his head gently on his pillow and rose to my hooves, trotting to the nearby table and setting the glass of water on it. It was still within reach of his hand, should he wake up and decide he wanted more.

I moved to the window next and looked out at the rain weeping from the trees and the manicured shrubbery, fascinated by the lines of silver droplets falling from the leaves in the semidarkness. It was a dark blue twilight muted by stormclouds, and some of the cloud shapes reminded me of crying angels - according to what little I had read of them.

"I never implied that you lived to fight," I went on quietly. "I only thought that perhaps your training would begin again tomorrow."

He said nothing. I too was quiet for a long time. I did not mention my suspicion that perhaps he hadn't told me the whole truth about his "training". If he didn't have a fight scheduled for the morrow, or the day after, maybe this... "training" would classify as "unplanned training". Or, more accurately, a chance run-in with said old friend, who would more likely be an old enemy in such circumstances. My belief is that this beating was the result of a major one-on-one battle.

_Ah well. There will be time enough to ask him about it later... supposing he survives continued 'training'. But of course, it's usually best to begin such conversations by observing the proper conventions..._

"I'm sorry, I don't know your name," I remarked offhandedly. He didn't answer. I turned around. The mutant's eyes were closed and his breathing was steady: He was asleep.

A knowing smile invaded my features. _Or, more likely_, pretending _to be_.

I softly crossed the room and made my exit. A moment later, I suddenly poked my head back in. He hadn't moved.

_Ah well... either he's a very good actor and was prepared for that, or he really is sleeping_. In either case, I was loath to disturb him. Very quietly I pulled the door shut and trotted down the hall, so bemused by everything I'd just learned that I forgot my original destination and ended up at the door to the courtyard, watching the rain showering the lawn in the near-darkness.

This strange world could be a very foreign place, but sometimes, I ran across elements that were disturbingly familiar. And for the record, I appreciate Angel's nicknames for me far more than "mate" and "sheila".


	22. Home

Home.

The very word was almost foreign to me. And now... I had one.

The following afternoon, I stood beside the courtyard's centerpiece - the magnificent stone fountain - and gazed at the mansion housing Xavier's Institute for the Gifted, taking in the strange magic that surrounded the school. Thick ivy climbed the stone walls, and the perfect blue sky combined with the hint of fall in the air added to the ageless atmosphere. I felt as if I were standing in a place that fairly breathed of legend.

Later I would discover that I was right.

Xavier's was a school exclusively for mutants, but that fact was kept a secret from the rest of the non-mutant world - except for in certain circles. Many humans, even those living here in New York, doubted the existence of mutants. Stories of mutants seemed more like a fantastic collection of myths than reality.

And no wonder. As I began to delve into the history of the X-Men, the series of tales contained within those archives read like a fairytale storybook, full of tragedy and high adventure and triumph. At any time while I was reading through that collection of stories, I was liable to burst out laughing or crying.

Xavier's is a well-kept secret. Too easily, I could have wandered New York for days without a clue of where to go, and besides the fact that I would have been persecuted for my supposed mutant status, I would have greatly upset a large sector of the human population - without even knowing I was doing it - just by trotting through those congested city streets. It was miraculous, really, that I'd happened upon Angel almost immediately after entering this new world.

I'd been at the school for three days, and such amazing things had already happened to me - and to the mutants I'd been fortunate enough to meet. There was Logan, who told me the sad tale of his love for Jean Grey, and how he'd been forced to kill her... and how she'd come back to life, but he didn't know if it was his beloved Jean Grey or the deranged Phoenix lying downstairs in the MedLab. There was Kurt Wagner, who was an automatic kindred spirit, and whose fervent devotion to Aslan was a lot like my own. Something about him reminded me of my late father: A combination of his playful demeanor, his humility, and his dedication to God reminded me of Eolas Windsong. At first it was painful. And then, as time went on, it became a great comfort instead.

Then, as the days became weeks and the weeks turned into months, I met more the mansion's inhabitants. Jean Grey was a wonderfully strong and intuitive woman who made me feel very welcome, taking me under her proverbial wing and helping me get settled at the school. Tessa Niles, Kurt Wagner's dear friend and later betrothed, was remarkable: Efficient, and kind, and fun, and motherly in a way. I gravitated toward her for that reason alone, even before we really got to know each other. Then there was Professor Charles Xavier himself, and Scott Summers, and Ororo Monroe, who also goes by Storm. She was every bit as beautiful as Angel said she was.

That September afternoon, as I stood beside the bubbling fountain and watched pigeons fluttering about the mansion roof, I had no idea how much these people - and many, many others - would affect my life. But I did know how much Angel had already affected me, and that after our talk in the courtyard, my life would never be the same.

Lives change one day at a time, whether you take notice of it or not. Perhaps it is because centaurs live to see six hundred years that we're more aware of the effect the passage of time has on those caught in its currents. Or perhaps it was because of my mutation - which I didn't even know I had until later. Perhaps my heightened intuition clued me in on future events, because I knew, from the moment I looked into Angel's eyes, that he would have a tremendous impact on me; and I knew, the moment I passed through the black iron gates of Xavier's, that I was coming home.


	23. Failure

I hadn't visited Kurt Wagner in far too long. Not since the prank incidents, actually. Such woeful negligence was sure to have consequences. But never in my wildest dreams could I have conjured consequences quite like the ones I faced the evening I cantered down the hall to the mansion's chapel and pulled open the large doors.

I was immediately overwhelmed by the reverent hush that greeted me from the chapel interior. The world slowed its crazy rush and paused on the doorstep of Aslan's domain. Stepping quietly inside, I let the doors close softly behind me, and I languidly swished my tail as peace enveloped me in the holy atmosphere. A slight smile touched my lips and lines embedded in my forehead evaporated. The presence of Aslan - God, I reminded myself - was undeniably here, infusing the very air with a warm, sweet quality that awakened me and made me want to fall asleep all at the same time. It was rest and life occupying the same moments.

Feeling much like a foal, I treaded lightly over the carpet towards the altar. That's when I noticed the dark silhouette of Kurt Wagner crouched in the front row, his tail hanging loosely over the back of the pew, once in a while swishing slowly back and forth.

The bright greeting died on my lips when I perceived his listless demeanor: Something was wrong. This was not the chipper Kurt Wagner I knew who played pranks on the unsuspecting innocents.

Worry furrowed my brow as I tentatively approached him. "Kurt?" I asked in a soft hushed tone.

He didn't move, at first. Then his eyes slowly slit open. His tail froze. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising as he inhaled.

"Guten tag..."

I stood, rooted to the spot while my danger sense began to stir and prickle along my twin spines - which was strange, because Kurt seemed very sad about something, and possibly hurt. Kurt had spoken the greeting without looking at me. He took another long, labored breath before suddenly shaking himself. He glanced over his shoulder at me with tired yellow eyes, glazed from lack of sleep.

"Ah... it is you, meine Freundin..."

My jaw fell open. He was in horrible shape! I slapped a hand over my choker and shifted to my smaller human form, sliding into the pew to sit beside him. "Kurt, what's the matter? What happened to you?"

He watched me take my place beside him, then turned his head and shifted his dull gaze ahead of him. "Ah... it is nothing, meine Freundin." But his lip curled back from his sharp teeth in a somewhat silent snarl.

My danger sense reeled out of control. I cringed away, my alarm growing, but I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. I still trusted Kurt, despite his strange behavior. "Good Lion, if this is nothing, then pray tell what is something?!" I gave his shoulder a slight shake, biting down hard on my lip to steady my nerves with a slight shock of pain before saying more. "Kurt, don't snarl like that. If you're in pain I'm... I'm a healer. You have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

His lip quivered for a moment, then relaxed and dropped over his teeth. He turned back to me. "I... I am sorry, Fraulein." He grimaced and snapped his tail roughly against the back of the pew, and I jumped. Then he looked down as if he were ashamed about it. "I am not sure what it is... I am just not myself today."

"Tell me something I don't know," I half-whispered in the quiet of the chapel. "Did you pray about it and ask As- God to show you?"

His lip curled again, his yellow eyes glowing eerily in the dim light. "Pray... ja... I have been doing so, for most of the day, but God has been silent so far, and my mind has grown clouded."

_Strange._ Pity wrenched at my heart and I put forth every ounce of intuitive instinct I possessed as the danger sense threatened to drown it out. How I wished I could read people as easily as Jean. "Are you sad about something?" I questioned softly, putting my arm around his shoulders.

He slumped slightly under my arm and sighed, closing his eyes and opening them again. He seemed painfully weary. "I am sorry, Fraulein. I do not know what is happening to me. My mind feels in turmoil and my emotions are out of control... I cannot explain it." He hissed again, softly, and sighed.

That cold tingle of fear began to take hold of me, but I refused to move. I tightened my hold on Kurt and firmly but gently admonished him. "Please stop hissing. It's completely unnerving," I said quietly. He didn't respond. I bit my lip. "Kurt... I'm not your sister for no reason," I went on. "I don't know what to do for you, not really, but I'm going to try things. What happened to you _before_ you got like this? You act as if some tragedy has thrown you into shock. Whatever it is, Kurt, I _need_ you to tell me..."

But already I was withdrawing the cordial from my satchel (a difficult feat with one hand) and I uncorked it with my teeth, and then before Kurt could react, I used the hand that encircled his shoulders to gently tilt his head backwards, and I let a drop of cordial fall into his mouth.

The effect was instantaneous and unexpected. Almost before I could replace the cork, Kurt quickly sat up, his face blazing with fury, and he spat the cordial onto the carpet. Then he teleported - BAMF - to the top of the altar, right onto the cross, and crouched there glaring at me, his tail whipping dangerously back and forth.

"I do not need your help, Fraulein, or your cordials!" he snapped, hissing like a cornered tiger.

I shot to my feet, my silver eyes darkening as I stared at him perched ominously on the altar, where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he certainly should _not_ be. Altars reminded me of the Stone Table and I was sure they held similar meaning. For the first time, I questioned my original assessment of Kurt Wagner as I stepped into the aisle and touched my sapphire, growing taller and more confident as I shifted into my centaurian form, never taking my eyes from Kurt. Nor did he take his from me: His yellow gaze narrowed in unspoken threat and his body tensed. The Incredible Nightcrawler looked ready to kill me. And I was not about to let him. I planted my hooves and stared him down.

"Well then you'd better get God's help, because you need help, trust me," I riposted, losing my soft tone. But I wasn't done reasoning with him. Not yet. "Kurt Wagner, you know better than this. Whatever has gotten into you? Come down from that altar. That's not your throne."

He looked at me for a long moment, but a subtle change came over him, as if he were _seeing_ me for the first time. His tail drooped. He looked at the cross he was perched upon and crawled down onto the flat table of the altar, running a hand through his hair. Again the danger sense receded, and all I felt from him was shame.

Then I was suspicious. Thoughts began racing through my mind. _Was this some kind of trick?_

"I... forgive me," Kurt sighed. "I don't know what has gotten into me..."

_An outside influence, by chance?_ There was no way to be sure. My senses warred with my logic. My instincts told me I was in grave danger, but my mind told me there was something deeper that was wrong: It wasn't in Kurt's nature to behave like this. _Mind control, possibly, like Narnian evil magic?_

I didn't know what to think. Loyalty spells had been placed on a few unfortunate creatures, or so it was rumored. But I'd never put much stock in those tales... until now. What other explanation seemed likelier?

I watched him warily. "I forgive you a thousand times," I told him, my eyes glinting, "but by no means am I going to drop my guard. You're going to have to fight... whatever this is. Don't make me fight both you _and_ it alone." Taking a step towards him, I held up the cordial. "You're going to drink a drop of this, Kurt," I informed him in a no-nonsense tone of voice. But I kept the tiny bottle well out of his reach; I wanted to be the one handling it in case he took a fancy to throwing it down in a fit of temper and smashing it. This was the only bottle I'd brought with me from Narnia, and I didn't want to troop all the way back to my homeland just to get another one. "Now come down from there."

Kurt eyed the cordial as if it were a threat to his very existence and slowly shook his head. "I cannot take that, Fraulein... I know you mean well... but I must figure this out on my own..."

I was knocked back on my mental heels. I knew this was the rational Kurt talking, not that one that looked as if he were crazy enough to plunge his spade into my heart, and I couldn't argue with the rational Kurt. I sighed and was quiet for a long time while Kurt grabbed his head between his large three-fingered hands and shook it, as though trying to clear away an angry mist or a persistent headache. At last I tucked the cordial away with great reluctance, feeling entirely weaponless on his behalf now. I switched my white tail and studied the blue teleporter.

Slowly I approached his perch, my hooves falling heavy in the deep cathedral silence, and when I was close enough I set my hands on his shoulders. Very quietly, I implored him to talk to me - without hissing.

"I wish I could tell you more, Fraulein... I do not know what is wrong with me. In truth, I have hardly slept these past few weeks," he admitted, dropping his head. "And I have been feeling... 'off'... for awhile." He closed his eyes. "And angry... Mein Gott... I've felt so... angry..."

I pushed my wave of sympathy aside. Now was not the time. I gave a soft sigh, maintaining the intensity of my gaze - and my readiness to defend myself.

"Kurt, have you not been pranking enough people lately?" I felt my mouth twitch slightly. I always defaulted to humor when I ran out of other options; I'd even done so on a few occasions involving narrow scrapes with Calormene slavers. "Or do we need to have a session in the Danger Room so you can wear yourself out and calm down and sleep?"

Maybe I got through to him - I don't know. In any case, he hopped down from the altar, his shoulder and tail drooping in that pathetic manner. "In truth, I wish I could just prank someone and be done with it... but I just... feel empty tonight." He shrank away from me as if in fear, letting my hands fall from his shoulders. I made no move to stop him. "I may take you up on the Danger Room later, Fraulein... but perhaps it is best if I stay here alone." He dropped his head when he spoke those final words of dismissal. Again, more shame.

And for me, something infinitely more dreadful: Helplessness. I swallowed hard, my normally frisky tail listless against my hocks.

"Alright, Kurt," I said with quiet resignation. What else could I say? I was left without a choice, and all I could do was obey his wishes. If he wanted to be left alone, I couldn't _make_ him endure my company. "You- you know where to find me if you need anything, right? And... and if you want me to bring food or drink or... or if you just want to talk... or company... or someone to pray with..." I was in deep trouble. My brave facade was rapidly disintegrating, and I turned my back on him so he wouldn't see that as I trotted swiftly for the door. I pushed the door halfway open and paused to look back at him one last time.

Kurt was struggling inwardly. Finally he managed to whisper something, and my sharp ears picked up every word.

"Danke... and bitte... forgive me... I only wish to be myself again..."

_Snap._ That was the sound of my heart breaking. Swallowing once, then twice, I managed to nod shortly before I shoved the door completely open and fled, my galloping hooves clattering madly through the nighttime silence of the mansion.

I ran straight to Angel's room and burst inside. Neither Jay nor Angel was there. I collapsed on the floor and curled up in the corner and sobbed brokenly, burying my face in my hands and feeling the tears leaking through my fingers.

Most of my difficulties I was used to solving with my sword, but this time I could do nothing. _Nothing._ How I hated that word, that truth! I was totally, completely helpless to do anything for Kurt...

Just like I had been helpless to save my own mother. The hideous reality I had been running from for the past eleven years was now staring me in the face: I was a failure.

"Aslan," I wept, choking on my own tears. "Aslan, please..."

At some point I cried myself into unconsciousness.


	24. Laws of Gravity

You'll never find so little to occupy your time until you're desperate to find activities designed to chase the minutes away.

That's what I discovered the following day, after I'd spoken with Kurt and discovered some kind of trouble beyond anything I could handle. At last, when I had fallen as low as mindless pacing, I gave up. With clenched fists, I set my face toward the chapel and trotted straight there with a purpose. I had to see how he was doing... no matter what.

The next thing I remember, I was staring at the wood grain of the chapel door. Just as I was starting to knock, it opened. Kurt was there, his eyelids drooping pathetically and his tail dragging on the floor.

"Ah... hallo," he mumbled.

Warily I turned my head to one side, regarding him. "Hello," I greeted cautiously. "You... you alright today?"

The blue teleporter looked at me for a moment as if trying to place my face. Then he shook himself off and I noticed his tail rise off the ground momentarily, and his eyes took on blank recognition. "Ah... Fraulein... I am having trouble remembering some things..." _Including me, it would seem,_ I thought but dared not say. Kurt closed his eyes, a muscle in his velveteen jaw working. He was fighting... and too tired to fight. Then, apologetically, he glanced sideways at me. "I do not mean to be so... well..." He gestured to himself. "Like this..."

Compassion swept over me. I winced, then touched my sapphire and, once I was human again, I knelt down beside him.

"It's alright," I assured him quietly. "You're not alone, Kurt." I smiled a little and touched his shoulder. "God is with you. I'll stay here. Just... don't give up," I urged, and then I found myself at an abysmal loss for words. I shook my head to clear it of emotional clutter. "I don't understand what's going on but _please_ don't give up."

That's when Kurt told me his bad news. Tessa just returned from a special mission, gathering intelligence on an old enemy - The Church of Humanity, they called themselves. Once they sought to overtake the world and rid it of mutants. They saw it as their "holy war". Their intended pawn was Kurt.

Anger rose in me as Kurt explained their diabolical plan. They played with Kurt's mind, causing him to believe he was a priest, and put something called an "image inducer" on him, which made him look... normal. Like an ordinary human being, not a blue mutant with a tail. They intended to establish him in the Catholic church and bring it down from the inside by revealing Kurt's true form - and turning him into a demon pope, also by means of their mind control.

It took a while for this information to sink into my understanding. When it did, I had to suppress my own fury. What if they'd chosen to do this abominable thing to Angel instead? Too easily, they could have. These people had to be stopped - for everyone's sake. For humanity. Mutantkind in general. The followers of Aslan. And Kurt.

The first person I thought of visiting was Tessa. I asked Kurt about her... and found out he still couldn't say her name, and it almost tore my heart out watching him _try_, so hard. He bit his lip with his sharp teeth, and that set my nerves on edge as if someone had scraped their nails across a chalkboard: It hurt _me_ vicariously to watch. I pressed two fingers to my forehead to stay the headache forming there, then curled my fist and stared at Kurt over my knuckles. I was worried in particular about the condition of his lower lip, should this go on much longer.

"By the mane..." I cut my sentence short and made myself say nothing about his tortured lip. Completely frustrated and at my wit's end, and wondering how safe it was to suggest, I muttered, "We could still have a round in the Danger Room, Kurt. Judging by your pacing, you have an awful lot of nervous energy to wear off." _And aggression_, I thought but didn't mention.

He was snarling fiercely and whipping his tail sharply - something in regards to Tessa, I assumed, was responsible for that - and cracked it irritably against the wall. Then he stopped suddenly and took a deep breath. "The Danger Room... perhaps that is not a bad idea... I do need to let off some steam."

Fear spiraled through my body and my heart plummeted. I was really hoping he would refuse the offer, but it had been taken, and I wasn't about to back down. My danger sense was screaming out of control just being near him, and the idea of fighting him...

I shuddered. Kurt was no weakling, nor was he any stranger to combat. This was one fight I probably would not walk away from.

Still kneeling on the floor, I smoothed wrinkles from my skirt out of nervous habit, then drew a deep breath and tightened my jaw. Automatically I shifted into the deep focus I'd taught myself to adopt just before a battle - especially one I thought I might not come back from. But that was when we were facing a huge army, and at least I had my comrades to draw courage from. This time, I was alone. I had only one opponent. Now was not the time to be afraid, and I wasn't: I was terrified.

I climbed to my feet, which changed into hooves - an odd sensation - halfway up. From my familiar height of eight feet, I looked around the chapel and gazed for a long time at the altar. I thought of Narnia. My entire life went through my mind like a caravan of scenes, one at a time, and I reflected on each stage thoroughly before moving on to the next. All the time I saw Aslan's golden eyes before me; burning, intense, and full of love.

Lastly, I saw Angel. My heart threatened to break free of its iron casing and unleash emotions I did not want to grapple with right now. I had had so much planned - all the determination I harbored to see him restored and free, truly free, was like dust between my fingers, now. It was all for nothing. I closed my eyes and shoved every last muse from my head and commanded them not to return.

After a moment of silent prayer, I turned again to Kurt and gave him the nod. "Let's go." I turned my back on the sanctuary and trotted resolutely towards the door. Just when I reached it... BAMF.

I whirled. Kurt was gone.

For a second, I dared hope he wasn't going through with our bargain after all, but almost immediately those hopes were dashed. If I could have teleported, I would have too, and spared myself the journey there. I left the chapel at a placid walk and headed for the Danger Room, but I took a route through the mansion that brought my reluctant hooves past Angel's door.

There, in the darkened corridor, I stopped. How long I stood there, I don't know. I raised a hand and caressed the smooth wood and released a long, deep sigh. Closing my eyes, I leaned my forehead briefly against the door. A thousand wishes, all with Angel's name on them, tumbled through my mind until they were eclipsed by just one final thought... and I couldn't give voice to it.

"Take care of yourself," I whispered. Swallowing hard, I hurried away, afraid that if I stayed longer I would succumb to the temptation to go inside and tell him goodbye. And then he would stop me from going through with this foolishness, I knew - maybe even take my place. I knew already how convincing he could be. And stubborn. That awful thought alone kept me from going to see him - it was bad enough having to bandage a hurt wing on my account once from before; this time there was no telling what Kurt would do to his sparring partner. Besides that, I didn't want to be talked out of this. I never backed down from a challenge... especially not one I'd made to Kurt.

I peeked inside the Danger Room, and sure enough, there he was: Pacing and obviously awaiting my arrival. He gave little reaction when I revealed my presence. Nodding expressionlessly in formal acknowledgment, I headed for the side and unbuckled my weapons belt, containing my long knife and two swords - one formerly belonging to my mother, the other to my father - and leaned down to set it on the floor. Suddenly a horrible thought struck me, and I glanced sideways at the Incredible Nightcrawler.

He was watching me, but despite his glowing eyes, his expression was blank. I had no intention of using blades on Kurt, and it made no difference whether I was wearing them or not: If he wanted to steal them, he could get them either way, and suddenly I didn't care if he did. I dropped them. They clattered to the ground.

Kurt eyed my weapons indifferently before looking back up at me. I stared coldly back.

"Alright, Fraulein..." He lowered himself to all fours in a battle crouch, tail in the air and teeth bared in a defensive posture. Then he cocked his head. "How do you want to do this?"

I shrugged, watching him warily. For a moment, I knew what it was like to stare death in the face. How odd that I would find my demise at the hands of a friend...

I didn't like his fighting stance, but there was nothing else for it; my mind was made up. "I don't know. Nor do I care." Completely detached, I balled my fists. "I'll leave that up to you and I'll adapt to your attacks. Go ahead, Kurt."

Kurt's eyes grew cold. Suddenly he snarled and sprang at me, grabbing me around the waist and slamming me to the ground.

I let out a sharp cry before all the air left my body. Terror whirled in my stomach and adrenaline surged through me, and bracing my hands against the ground I pushed myself upright and punched both fists at Kurt's midsection. He staggered backwards and I struggled to my hooves.

His yellow eyes gleamed and his teeth flashed. "Nice move, Fraulein... I commend you..."

The incongruity of that statement sent me into momentary shock. I was trying to _match_ his aggression, not outdo it. My head cleared somewhat as he dropped to all fours and rushed me again, leaping up at the last second and landing a sharp kick to my human ribcage. Landing, he snared my forehooves with his tail and whipped them out from under me, sending me right back where I came from with sore ribs to boot. I crashed to the ground and Kurt fell on top of me, pressing his full weight into my shoulder to _keep_ me there.

I let out a breathless laugh. "That... tail..."

I twisted my upper body and seized him by the vest collar, and I pulled him downwards and tossed him at the same time so that he went rolling over my head. While he was still in midair, I gave a mighty heave and brought my forelegs up to kick him in the side at medium force. What really amazed me is that he landed on the wall - and _stuck_ there like an overgrown blue spider. He gazed back at me, a slow smile spreading over his features. I turned my attention to getting to my hooves, and when I looked up again Kurt was gone.

Suddenly I felt him land on my back, wrapping arms, legs and tail around me tightly.

Shock blasted through me like a lightning bolt, and reason temporarily fled me. That was the greatest blow he could have inflicted to my pride and dignity. Humiliation - and terror - sent plain centaurian fury surging like fire through me: I let out a maddened squeal and reared onto my hind legs, thrashing with air with my sharp hooves. Instantly I was down on all fours, bucking and kicking and twisting like a tornado unleashed in all its wrath. I couldn't get at him with my arms either: He was pressed firmly against my spine and I couldn't reach him. Blinded with fear and subsequent anger, seeing red curtains closing over my brain, I _snarled_ - as I had in my battles against the Calormenes, as Kurt had snarled at me - and broke into a headlong gallop, tearing around and around the Danger Room as if I'd lost my sanity, still bucking and kicking and squealing like an unbroken mustang being ridden by a wildcat.

But it was all in vain: I might as well have been trying to dislodge my own pelt. As my strength was slowly depleted, my terror increased tenfold. Kurt could do serious damage to me - if not kill me - in my current condition. I stumbled once from sheer exhaustion, then came bounding to a quick halt and stood there, sweating and trembling all over, clenching my fists and gasping for breath and gathering my wits. I'd failed and that infuriated me more. I shot a dark glare over my shoulder.

"Off," I commanded in a low growl, "or I'll _roll_ on you."

He slowly smiled at my obvious frustration, and that devilish grin sent pure chills racing down my spines. Then he jerked backwards as if coming to his senses and BAMF - he was off my back and standing a few feet away, putting a hand to his forehead.

I let out a little cry of relief as soon as I was free and wavered on my hooves, hyperventilating. The cold terror that had held me firmly in its grip and fueled my irrational rage was abruptly released, and I whirled deftly on all four hooves to face his new position, prepared for some novel form of attack. But it didn't come. Kurt didn't look well. My tail whipped irritably at my flanks and the offended horse hide on my shoulders twitched, but the fire inside me slowly died like fading embers. Concern crept over me next.

"Kurt?" I asked in a soft tone of voice, surprising myself. It sounded almost foreign, compared to the vicious ultimatum I'd delivered only a moment ago. "Kurt, are you alright?"

My mind was racing. I decided not to bring up the cordial, remembering what happened the _last_ time I mentioned it. Though I maintained a safe distance and stayed ready for sudden battle, my first thoughts were for Kurt's well-being - which was brought on largely by a fair amount of guilt. Despite his attitude, Kurt hadn't actually _hurt_ me. At least, not yet. But that meant something. I wouldn't lightly disregard that. The Kurt Wagner I knew was still there.

Kurt went into his crouched fighting stance and tilted his head. "Well, Fraulein... are you just going to stand there, or are you going to attack?"

He was _taunting_ me. He _wanted_ me to hurt him.

Lead again settled into the pits of my stomachs as my expression hardened. My tail cracked sharply against my hocks. Pity and compassion, which came naturally to me, were pushed away and saved for the aftermath; I knew my limitations, and Kurt's, and I planned on only going as far as the line... without crossing it.

I gave a battle holler and charged forward, reaching him in two strides and then rearing up to lance him with my forefeet. I caught him hard in the shoulders. Kurt tumbled over and hopped nimbly to his feet, rubbing his chest, and before I could stop him he darted _beneath_ me and began wreaking all kinds of havoc.

Height - my other disadvantage. Kurt seemed to be finding them all. He sent a sharp kick into my vulnerable equine stomach and twin uppercuts, and I stifled three yips and jumped with each blow. Unwilling to let him stay there and inflict all the pain he liked, I gathered myself and leapt _over_ him, landing on my front hooves. My back hooves never touched the ground: I delivered a solid double-barreled kick to his back instead.

Kurt went sprawling on his face and laid there, motionless.

Whirling, I gave a short cry of dismay and abandoned my defenses and rushed to his side, sliding to my knees and leaning over him, my hands gentle on his back.

"Kurt! Kurt, I didn't think I hit you that hard," I agonized. Oh, this was all my fault! I should never have agreed to fight him in the first place - neither he nor I were in any condition to spar. He was too angry and I... I was too afraid and I let that fear rule my actions. And now, here were the consequences. Inwardly I berated myself for my carelessness and for placing more priority on surviving the spar than on the welfare of my worthy opponent... my friend.

_Oh Aslan... please let him be alright..._ "Say something..."

Kurt suddenly flipped over, grinning wickedly. Instantly I knew I'd been a fool... my gut plummeted and my blood froze. Kurt's yellow eyes were gleaming and he showed no sign of pain. He seized my wrists.

"Surprise!"

BAMF!

I didn't know whether to be very frightened, very angry, or very amused before we were traveling through that dark tunnel of tangible smoke.

BAMF!

We reappeared... in midair.

BAMF!

Kurt was gone - leaving me there. Alone. For a single instant my mind recalled the glory of flight in Angel's arms, but suddenly I screamed as gravity caught my fantastic centaurian weight in its merciless grasp and slammed me hard to the ground.

Pain. Everywhere. My wind was knocked out and my ribs felt squished and my limbs seemed to be all disjointed and broken. Sound and light were muffled behind a sudden fog; I could see and hear nothing as the world faded to gray. Stars danced across my vision. Coughing softly, I couldn't even cry - I was beyond that; I felt more dead than alive. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I writhed and tried pitifully to crawl out of my own body, because I was in too much agony to remain in my skin. I set my forearms against the ground and bent my head to the floor, moaning low in my throat and my whole muscular body tense.

Finally I gave up. Surrendering to the continuous waves of tremendous pain, I rolled on my side and laid there, gasping for air and trying not to choke on my tears. As the shock slowly wore off, my mind began to function again, and the realization that Kurt had done this to me - intentionally - caused the pain to intensify.

Where was he now?

With a great effort, I lifted my heavy head and looked around, my wandering gaze settling on him at last. He was sick - of course. He would be. He'd known what would happen if he teleported me because of how sick he'd been before, and he'd done it anyway.

Why?

I let out another soft moan and set my chin on the ground, watching him dully. He would recover, I knew now; in the meantime he couldn't hurt me any worse.

Kurt retched once more, then turned onto his back and gazed at me. He wanted to say something. He was trying. But he couldn't force the words to come. I saw him give up, and he fell on his back, waiting to heal... like I was.

The pain was reluctant to recede, but eventually it had to fade - a little. With the return of coherence came the knowledge that, despite the fierce pain jabbing at my bones and the fragile joints of my delicate equine limbs, nothing was broken. Kurt was struggling to speak again, and my sympathy resurfaced. I was going to have to crawl: Centaurs were not made for crawling, even under the best of conditions. I dropped my head wearily, then used my forearms to slowly drag my large body painfully over the short distance until I reached his side.

"Kurt..." I broke off coughing weakly and was forced to wait for oxygen's return, then I skipped talking altogether and pushed myself upright. He wasn't going to like this, but I had to help undo the damage I was partially responsible for: I reached for the dreaded cordial. I uncorked it and hesitated only a second before I leaned over him, sliding a hand behind his head.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, letting a drop fall into his mouth.

He didn't see it until it was too late. He sat up suddenly and acted like he was trying to spit it out, but he failed. Instantly his sickness passed. Remarkably, so did his anger. But my danger sense still told me that there was a deeper problem lurking that this cordial couldn't begin to touch. Whatever trouble he was having with his mind remained.

Kurt looked over at me. "I... I am sorry..."

I was in the act of tucking my cordial safely away when he said that, and my fingers trembled so violently that I nearly dropped it before I accomplished my purpose. My face crumbled. To my great dismay I realized I was going to cry an instant too late; tears were rushing to the surface and there was nothing I could do to stop the flood. Already sobbing, I scooted closer to Kurt and put my arms around him, my power of speech drowned in rivers of misery and anger and fear and guilt - all the emotions I'd experienced in the past hour or so. I gulped and hugged him tightly, but the tears kept coming. Even if Kurt still harbored ill intent towards me, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

But Kurt was limp in my embrace. He was as tired as I was, emotionally, mentally and physically. He collapsed onto my shoulder and closed his eyes.

"I am so... so sorry... I hate what I have become..."

My stomachs lurched painfully. His words struck a bad chord with me at that moment. I wasn't suffering from Kurt's condition, yet for a few brief moments, I too hated what I had become. _This is what comes of fear..._

I recovered from the storm first. Decades of practice burying sorrows had taught me more control over my tears - until I was alone, and then I was free to let them fall. Most of the time. A breakdown like this was rare and terribly humiliating, but like Kurt I was too exhausted to care. Leaning back slightly, I wrapped Kurt closer and put a gentle hand to the back of his head, cradling him against me. I sniffed a few times before I whispered, as if to a child, "You ready to sleep now?"

I felt him nodding. "Ja... sleep..."

I swallowed my tears and climbed to my sore hooves, picking up Kurt in the process and turning him onto his back so I could carry him with less trouble - one arm supporting his shoulders and the other behind his knees.

"Alright, off to bed," I murmured, consciously using the same soothing tone my mother used to employ whenever I was sick or hurt or in any way weak. I hobbled out of the Danger Room, leaving my weapons belt - I'd have time to collect it later. I brought Kurt to his room and nudged open the door with my hoof. Very gently, I laid Kurt on his bed and tugged a blanket over him, tucking him in with all the motherly tenderness I possessed. Finished, I folded my aching limbs and sat down with difficulty beside him, biting my lip against the series of painful moans and winces that surfaced with every little move I made. At last I arrived on the floor, and I set my hand on the side of his face.

"Everything's going to be alright, Kurt," I assured him softly, wishing I had a logical basis to be a springboard for my words. But I didn't. I had faith and faith alone. But if that's all I had to offer, then so be it. "We'll figure this out and it'll all be over before you know it. Until then, none of your friends are going to abandon you. I promise. I promise."

He closed his yellow eyes as I hummed an old centaur lullaby, and I watched him go unconscious. It would be a stretch to say he fell asleep: I've never seen anything like it. He just... left my dimension, in a way, and checked out, but I didn't get the feeling he was actually _sleeping._

Regardless, there was nothing more I could do. I tried to get to my hooves and failed twice before finally rising on the third attempt, and I limped to the door, glancing back at Kurt before I pulled it softly shut.

I headed slowly down the empty corridor, still in so much pain; feeling heartsick over the evening's events. There was only one person who could do anything for him now: Tessa. I had to see her immediately. And I had no idea where to find her.


	25. Sword in My Heart

The morning after my ill-fated spar with a very angry Kurt Wagner, things got worse.

Physically, I was good as new after spending the night talking to Tessa and sharing Narnian herbs with her. On her recent reconnaissance mission, she spied on the Church of Humanity and found out very little - but sustained some kind of energy burn on her shoulder. It was quite nasty, but healing. My herbs sped up the natural process.

Emotionally, it was another story - for both me and Tessa. Kurt's aggressive nature was wearing on us. Especially her: I was Kurt's sister, in a manner of speaking, but Kurt and Tessa were in love. That closer bond between them brought both Tessa and Kurt much greater pain than I was suffering.

And I was suffering well enough. Kurt and Tessa had, for reasons I can't fully explain, become like parents to me. Their relationship so closely mirrors that of my own lost parents that... perhaps they were the replacements I'd been looking for. That's my best guess.

I'd lost my parents when I was younger and more helpless. This time, I was 44 years old, and I was a trained warrior, toughened by trials and hardships, and I knew what I was doing. I would not fail. Not this time.

I don't remember where I was going. I was trotting through the mansion - probably headed to the kitchen for something to eat, or to the courtyard to stretch and exercise in the morning sun; I really don't recall - when I rounded a corner and very nearly trampled a listless Kurt, looming over him at my normal height of eight feet. Suddenly my hooves gave a mad scramble and I moved swiftly backwards, my eyes wide with surprise and a touch of fear.

"Oh... Kurt, hi. I wasn't expecting..." I broke off. _Well of course not, Violar; what an inane thing to say at a time like this!_ I mentally chided myself. I had to pull myself together; this was no time to babble like an idiot. I drew myself upright and noted his sagging shoulders and dragging tail, and concern was instantaneous.

Kurt took a step back at my reaction to him, and I winced inwardly. He radiated shame and self-loathing, and I hadn't helped. He didn't blame me, either; I could tell. That was all the more awful.

"Are you any better?" I asked quietly, not risking any real hope in the question. His posture pretty much told me all I needed to know.

He didn't seem to understand me, and he wouldn't so much as meet my eyes, staring at the floor instead. "Ah, Fraulein... I am so sorry about what happened earlier... I... I don't know what came over me..."

Something inside me shattered. Despite all the risks, I couldn't just... leave him there. I moved forward and enveloped him in a hug, and he tensed immediately in my arms - though he valiantly returned it. Embracing him right then was not the wisest thing to do, by far; but I couldn't bear to see him like this. Or to be helpless. I _hate_ being helpless.

"Kurt, no, it's alright," I tried to soothe him. "I'm alright too, see?" I pulled back a little to stomp each hoof on the floor, one at a time. "No harm done, none at all," I assured him, tightening my hug again and keeping my face over his shoulder so he wouldn't see my pained expression at the memory of our spar. "You're just... you're still fighting. It's not easy. I'm really sorry, Kurt."

My Danger Sense was blazing with boiling rage, and my instinct is to flee from that pressure. But I stubbornly refused to let it get to me. Kurt _could_ be trusted. But he was not even sure of that anymore; he drew out of my arms and shuffled to the edge of the corridor, into the shadows. There he eerily disappeared, almost. I could still make out the faint outline of his blue form, and his yellow eyes were visible - though lacking their usual brilliance. When he spoke, his sharp teeth were most prominent.

"Forgive me if I keep my distance... I do not trust myself... and I do not want to cause further harm to you..."

My heart twisted painfully, but I managed a nod. "It is wise," I said softly, hoping this reassurance would help him feel better. He was looking out for me, even while his emotions raged. I wanted him to know I was grateful.

His eyes fell. "Tell me, Fraulein... have you spoken with Te..." His voice trailed off, and he gave up. He couldn't even _say her name..._

That hurt. That really, really hurt. I nodded. "I have spoken to _Tessa_, yes." I said her name on purpose, not knowing whether the effect it would have on him would be positive or negative. He only pressed his back against the wall, eyeing me. I risked a few more words. "Tessa... she misses you, Kurt. She loves you very much. She's doing everything in her power to... to make everything alright." I ended there, somewhat nervous.

Kurt visibly slumped in relief. "Danke..."

Suddenly he slid all the way to the floor, snarling and baring his teeth at something hovering over him. I tensed and tried to see what it was, my hand on the hilt of my sword in preparation to attack it, but there was... nothing. Whatever was agitating Kurt was invisible.

For several moments, Kurt snarled and foamed at the mouth. I studied him with more concern than wariness. Kurt was fighting it back enough that I knew I wasn't facing two enemies alone.

_Not that Kurt is an enemy..._ I closed my eyes momentarily and frowned at myself.

Finally Kurt relaxed and took a deep breath. The awful snarling had stopped. When he looked at me, his yellow eyes were calm, but slightly glazed.

"Fraulein," he said very quietly, "It is too much to ask you to stay with me... I know that I am not the best of company... but I cannot bear to be alone anymore..."

The forlorn plea went straight to my heart, giving rise to stubborn determination. "I won't leave you alone," I replied in a low, firm tone. "I promise." I took three solid strides towards him, though he shrank back from me, and buckling my long limbs I sat down and made myself comfortable on the floor. There was still a generous distance between us, but not a chasm.

I clasped my hands and was quiet for awhile, alternating my gaze between him and the wood floor. I was racking my brain for topics of conversation. I didn't want it to be too serious, and I'd have liked to make him laugh, if it were possible; and... finally I hit upon a perfect solution. Something outlandish - literally - from Narnia.

"You're not terrible company compared to some company I've been forced to entertain," I told him lightly. "I doubt you've ever heard of Marsh Wiggles. I know Marsh Wiggles are a Narnian specialty, and let me tell you: We could do without them. I don't know what my mother saw in them, truly." I laughed softly at the memories. "I've never suffered so much negativity from anyone at one time. You'll never find anyone to insist the glass is half-empty more than a Wiggle, Kurt."

His smile was forced, but it was a smile nonetheless. "I cannot say that I have ever met one... but they do sound like interesting people," he offered.

I chuckled, leaning back a little in a more relaxed posture. "'Interesting'... you could say that, I suppose. Really you can't fault them for the way they are. How delightful would anyone who lived in a gloomy old swamp be?" I gave voice to another rippling laugh. "Any time you talk to one, they will tell you the world will end tomorrow. I kid you not. The only thing that will save you from seeing the end of the world is... being captured by a giant and made into a centaur sandwich, I suppose. That's the sort of thing a Marsh Wiggle likes to dwell on, philosophy-wise.

"My mother said there was wisdom to be had in their culture, but I never saw _her_ imitating them. And I would hazard a guess that it is wise to follow the wise." I shrugged and grinned, slipping more easily into my chosen role. "It's the sort of thing my mother was always doing. She tried to make other people feel better, even if there was nothing in their lives to feel better about. She could find the sunshine in the longest winter, or a drop of water in the driest desert. She was... she was neat." I nodded to myself, rather thoughtful.

Kurt crouched down across from me, watching me with yellow eyes. "Your mother... she sounds like a wonderful woman," he remarked, pulling his knees up to his chest.

His words warmed my very soul. Kurt might've been suffering under the influence of the Church of Humanity, but his core of kindness was shining through undimmed.

"She was," I answered after a pause. "I loved her and my father very much. They were... the neatest centaurs I've ever met. Though I'm prejudiced, of course," I added, chuckling wryly at myself. I gazed back at Kurt evenly. "I've missed having a family, Kurt. The... the feeling of being so dreadfully alone is something I thought I'd gotten used to, until I came here. I've traveled all over. I've been to France, and all through Narnia, and into the southern portions of Narnia and into the Calormen deserts, but here... here, things are different. I feel like I _belong_ here." She smiled again. "It's like being home. I _still_ haven't had a chance to speak with the Professor, as he's been extremely busy, but the rest of you... everyone has been terribly welcoming, with rare exception."

Kurt listened to me ramble on, resting his back against the wall and letting his pointy tail slide loosely around his ankles, like a snake. Luckily, I'm not afraid of snakes, so there was nothing at all unnerving about the motion.

"I... agree with you, Fraulein," he answered quietly. "It is not good to be... alone. I was grateful to be brought here... to find my place." He looked down, as if struck by the irony of his own words. Frankly, so was I.

I smiled warmly at him. An invisible link of camaraderie formed between us as we talked, closing the physical distance that separated us, as I'd hoped it would. "I plan on staying for some time and... and I plan on protecting my family in any way I can." My voice hardened momentarily, then I forced it back to a more normal conversational tone. "Jean promised to teach me a great deal when she comes back from her honeymoon, and she's going to give me some kind of test," I said with a little shudder and a wince, "which I hope won't be too terrible, but I'm willing to undergo anything, regardless. I'm tired of running."

His tail thumped the ground, echoing deeply down the corridor. "I am sorry that you have had such a time... but you are more than welcome here. We are all glad you've come..."

I observed his reaction somewhat dully. My senses were indeed dulling under the constant bombardment of dark and fiery emotions, vacillating between bitter hatred and explosive rage. I was amazed by Kurt's self-control. Keeping a lid on all that turmoil wasn't easy.

The strain of not being able to help him in his struggles caused me almost not to want to care. But I did. I couldn't conceal the ache in my eyes before I looked down.

"Th-thank you, Kurt. I'm really glad I came too. Most of the time." I chuckled slightly. "Though I did put one of your comrades in grave danger with my presence, but it all turned out... alright."

He looked at me curiously, his brow furrowed. "What happened with you and this comrade?"

My heart gave a painful tug. I looked down for a long moment, my thoughts consumed with Angel. There was a lot of sadness, very fresh sadness, and personal hurt connected with Warren, and I didn't want to dwell on it if I didn't have to. Not now. Not when I was trying to talk with Kurt. But I felt my senses cloud even more from the distraction factor.

"I can't... tell you what happened with this comrade, Kurt. He made me promise to say nothing. But trust me when I say that, when next you meet said comrade, he will be in perfect condition and you'd never know he suffered any hurt at all..." My jaw tightened momentarily and I frowned away the urge to choke. "He.... yes, he's alright now. On the outside. But not all wounds are visible and treated by herbs and potions." My eyes misted over. "At least those wounds weren't my fault, but were there long before I came," I added somewhat brokenly. I drew a shuddering sigh and squared my shoulders. "But I think... I think I can do something for him, Kurt. If I can, I shall. Oh, I shall."

Kurt let it go at that, for which I was thankful. Just thinking about Angel has a profound effect on me, and there's nothing I can do about it.

He changed the subject back to our original line of conversation. "I admit, I still am not used to seeing a... a centaur in the hallways, but you are a welcome addition."

I laughed softly and glanced sideways at Kurt, a little twinkle appearing in my eyes. I felt, for the moment, a lot less sad.

"Well, I know now what it's like to be the only one of your own kind. Most of the mutants here have no equal. I'm... the same. Just like everybody else around here: Unique, and alone. It's very odd, after coming from a land populated by so many of me that the sight of one of my kind is hardly worth the mention." I cocked her head at my own observation. "And... and they respect us there. Nay, they _revere_ us. Here, I'm... we're all... outcasts."

I steered us in a slightly different direction, unwilling to allow either of our spirits to sink. "This place is truly amazing. I can't wait to learn more about it, and to meet the professor. I almost feel... somewhat... at a disadvantage. My fighting style seems somewhat out of place." Chuckling, I set a hand to my hilt and patted it as affectionately as if it were an old friend. Because, really, it was. "I'll adapt to new ways of operating, but it does level the playing field somewhat. My past training isn't much use here."

At that, Kurt stood slowly and moved closer to me, his gaze friendly. Puzzled and delighted by this change, I smiled at him as he crouched down very close to me, eyeing my beautiful swords. I think he guessed something of their value - not just monetary value, but the sentimental value to me personally.

One of those swords belonged to my father, and the other to my mother. I carry them both. I taught myself to wield them both at the same time. It's a difficult art to master, but I had time and patience in those desert years, and now I was something of an expert at it.

Two swords are more than twice as deadly as one, as long as the wielder knows how to use them without chopping off his or her own body parts. It does require a good deal of concentration. But the steady hum of sharp blades slicing through the air, and the _feeling_ of being dangerous, is incomparable - and that, added to the knowledge that I'm whirling between my hands the swords of my mother and my father at the same time, gave the concept tremendous appeal. That was why I persevered, despite the difficulty, and the inevitable cuts and gashes - and later scars - that resulted from hours and hours of practice in an effort to improve.

Those scars are gone now, thanks to Persica the peach tree dryad in Bergdale. She was kind enough to restore my appearance when I returned to Narnia, weary of my journeys in the southern deserts.

"You know, I have extensive training swordfighting." Kurt's soft voice broke into my thoughts. "My skills have proved useful here," he assured me. "As I'm sure yours will..."

Surprised, I offered Kurt a little smile. "I'm delighted to have someone else who knows the arts of swordfighting," I remarked, inexplicably warmed that he seemed to be doing better - and at the thought that, at last, I might have a sparring partner. "We'll definitely have to train together, because if I don't keep working out, I'll get rusty. It's not good to wield two swords when one is rusty." I smiled genuinely at him.

A slight change came over Kurt as I watched him. He eyed my weapons, then turned his gaze slowly to my face, looking deeply into my eyes as though he wanted to communicate something. I leaned a little closer, straining to decipher... whatever it was. It was difficult to interpret, especially when my Danger Sense was effectively out of commission due to an overwhelming flood of more anger varieties than I dreamed existed - which continued, even now.

A cold look came into his yellow eyes, followed by a brief flash of horror and misery, and I cocked my head in utter confusion. Finally he opened his mouth, and it almost seemed to me that he was going to cry.

"I... am... sorry," he forced out in a choking sob.

I was about to ask him for what when the coldness leapt into his eyes again with a vengeance. They narrowed into two yellow slits, and he _hissed_ fiercely at me. Quick as lightning, he reached forward and grabbed the hilts of both swords - one with a hand, one with his flexible tail, and then...

_BAMF_.

I jerked violently backwards and would've tumbled head over heels if I'd been anything other than a centaur. I lurched to my hooves and backed away, my hooves ringing in the empty corridor. My reaction came too late: There was nothing left of Kurt but a cloud of brimstone stinging my sensitive eyes and nostrils.

And he had my swords. Both of them.

Something worse than coldness pierced through me, and I shuddered. I was already shaking all over.

"Oh no... oh no. He has swords..." Abruptly the horror of what I had allowed to occur crashed down on me. With swords, he could hurt a lot of innocent people. It would be my fault... for growing careless, for daring to believe I was luring him out of his melancholy, that I was actually helping him, when deep down I knew there was nothing I could do... nothing, nothing but fight against the Church of Humanity itself!

I was just lucky that one of those blades hadn't ended up in my heart. It would've been too easy. I clutched a hand to my chest, the realization of how close I'd come to that very fate causing me more phantom pain.

I backed up slowly, expecting Kurt to drop down on me at any second from invisible heights. Icy terror shot down my back, and with a little cry I whirled and fled blindly down the hall.


	26. A Terrible Mistake

Kurt Wagner was a terrible danger unarmed. Now, with swords, no one in the mansion was safe. Only his valiant will, slowly weakening under the constant barrage of anger from his mind control link, would keep him away from the students. But I didn't know how much longer he could hold.

I had to tell someone. And that someone was Tessa Niles.

I knocked on her door and waited so long for an answer that I was starting to study the pattern on the wood floor before I heard footsteps and the rattling of the door handle. Tessa appeared, looking as exhausted and disillusioned as I felt.

"Come in," she said, standing to one side. "But I must warn you: I'm very tired and I could fall asleep while you are here. What's bothering you?"

"N-nothing," I lied. With a sigh I gave in. "Everything. Kurt's in a lot of pain and there's nothing I can do about it, Tessa, nothing," I said, lifting an anguished gaze to her. "I'm used to solving difficulties with my sword and this time... this time, I can't. All he wanted to do was say your name and..." I broke off, dangerously close to tears.

Tessa frowned sleepily at me and indicated a place for me to sit. "I understand what you mean. I don't usually solve problems with swords, but this situation with Kurt is forcing much out of my control, and that is not something I am used to."

I actually stomped a hoof, ignoring the invitation to sit. "I'm not going to let this happen again!" I all but snapped, my white tail cracking against one side. I clenched my jaw, but the outburst had worked: Anger canceled out the need for tears. I forced myself to calm down and nodded once to Tessa, then sat down heavily on the floor. "Thank you, Tessa. I'm... I'm awfully sorry this is so hard on you."

Stifling a yawn - she really was tired, I realized with a pang - Tessa raised her chin another degree. Standing there, she looked almost cold, and if I didn't know her any better, I would have admired her apparent ability to withstand the emotional onslaught - or silently criticized her for it. "I'll be fine... I've been through much worse. I'm just trying to give Kurt his space for now."

Sitting there, breaking into a million little pieces, I felt like a foolish foal. She was a whole decade younger than I was, give or take a few years, _and_ I was a centaur - a wise, impervious, all-knowing all-understanding far-seeing centaur with loads of faith and impossible strength. Right?

The very idea, at that moment, was laughable. But I did my best to don a similar emotional costume and _pretend_ stability. "It's best." I was proud of my neutral tone. "He scares me sometimes. He... he stole my swords, both of them, the last time we spoke." I was _not_ proud of that.

Tessa was shocked. "That's not good," she murmured, her jaw slightly agape. I could see her mind racing as she calculated the possible damage. "Have you ever sparred with him in fencing? He's quite good. I'm concerned about what he will do now... He may need to be avoided all together until we can disarm him."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. My shame was so keen that Tessa came close and tried her best to comfort me.

"You need to stop blaming yourself. Kurt can be very... persuasive. Believe me, I know..." At that, she blushed. "You were trying to see the best in him and wanted him to be better. Anyone could have made a similar mistake. At least, you have enough faith in him to believe that he could break free of their hold." She took a long drink of her Dr. Pepper, then tapped the bottle thoughtfully. "I have a plan, but I don't think I'm ready to share it with anyone yet. If we have to use it, I'll be sure you know the details, but it will bring up some painful memories from the past. And I'm not ready to go that far yet." This was cause for brief puzzlement - Tessa was being as cryptic as I am, on occasion. She huffed a bit. "I may be hardcore, but I'm not that heartless..."

That last part didn't make any sense. But the rest of what she said got to me. To my own surprise, a slow smile crept over my features, and I felt my cheeks turning pink.

"Alright, Tessa. You _have_ gone and made me feel better, even if I let go of my logic for a little while. That was your intent all along, wasn't it?" I looked up at her, chuckling. "He's definitely persuasive, but that's a good thing. Most of the time. At least... at least I got here, to the mansion, _before_ he was like this, and I had a chance to assess the _real_ Kurt Wagner. He will surely win this battle. After the long discussion we had, it's hard for me to believe anything otherwise. He's exhausted..." A slow smile passed over my face as I began to put pieces together. Why I didn't figure this out sooner, I don't know. "That's why he's so tired. He's fighting this thing night and day." Suddenly I felt a thrill of hope. "That's why he can't sleep! Oh the poor fellow, but surely, surely it's going to pay off!"

Tessa simply nodded along as I reasoned aloud. She was probably way ahead of me. But I was too delighted, too filled with hope at that moment, to berate myself for being a little late. And her words soothed me further. "I would never try to make anyone abandon logic; that is all I have to hold onto. It's the only thing consistent in my life." She smiled sadly. "For Kurt, it's his faith that is his... anchor. I suppose it's just that I see things logically from a different point of view... and I see perfect logic in what you've done."

I was ready to _hug_ Tessa for her words. A tremendous weight lifted physically from me, and I straightened my shoulders. I turned a broad smile onto Tessa. "Do you have any ideas that _aren't_ heartless in the meantime?"

Tessa looked around the room for a moment, then her gaze came to rest on me again. "I think we need to surround Kurt with the things that have comfort and hope for him. A form of morale booster, so to speak. If we can encourage him enough, it may help him fight the battles in his mind..." So saying, she walked toward her kitchen area. "And I have the perfect starter." She pulled out a bag of Oreos and held them up for me to see.

I threw back my head and laughed heartily. Oreos, of all things! I should have known. Rising to my hooves, I trotted over to Tessa, my disposition remarkably brighter.

"Brilliant thinking, Tessa!" I leaned close and studied the Oreos intently. "This is almost like... like reverse-pranking." I chuckled, a stream of butterflies hurtling briefly through both my stomachs. "So we just leave these things around in strategic locations, where he can find them? Gracious, I feel like Father Christmas! Now there's something I never thought I'd hear myself say."

Tessa laughed at me. I'd have laughed at me too, except I was too busy just laughing. I was so relieved to have something, _anything_ to do, so I didn't have to stand by and do nothing.

Tessa seemed almost giddy, but she kept a tight rein on herself. "Yes, like Father Christmas... or whatever name you choose to call him." She tapped her chin thoughtfully - a habit particular to her, I noticed. "The question is whether we should just leave our gifts or if we should try to find him and give them to him in person. What do you think would be the wisest course of action?"

I suggested both, and we set right to work planning. Tessa was as delighted as I was to have something, anything to occupy her hands and mind with.

"And notes, Tessa, notes," I added, getting carried away in my excitement. "You've got to write him notes to leave with these offerings. My mother and father were always leaving each other notes, and it never failed to give them a new reservoir of strength, no matter what was going on in their lives. That's what we've got to do for Kurt."

Tessa suddenly looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Violar, I appreciate your encouragement concerning Kurt and me," she began, and a little tingle of alarm prickled at the back of my neck, "but I think you've overestimated our relationship. At this point, Kurt and I are... well, I guess you could say 'undecided' in terms of our relationship..." She scratched her head. "When we get through this..."

And there, she trailed off as if she dared not guess the unwritten future.

I flushed scarlet. I'd rarely ever been that embarrassed. "I... I..." For a moment I was speechless. I took a deep breath and turned slightly to one side, shifting hooves self-consciously. My stomachs felt a little sick.

"I'm terribly sorry if I come off presumptuous, Tessa," I said at last, very quietly. "Centaurs are... it's kind of a bad habit. Intuition gets us in trouble sometimes, I suppose." Shaken, I stepped back, then tried harder to explain myself. "We see things in eyes... and eyes are the window to the soul. I know what I've seen in... in your eyes and... I apologize again for my hasty assumptions. I... I should be more careful in the future." I was stammering badly. I bit my lip, which was not a habit familiar to me, and looked away in complete mortification.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Tessa shaking her head emphatically. "You only spoke what you saw, I suppose. I'm often accused of being too... curt..." She chuckled sadly, and I was stuck with trying to figure out what Tessa meant by "too Kurt" until I ran all the possibilities of this phrase through my mind and came up empty. Then, as all answers to mental riddles do, it came into focus when I reached the end of my assumptions - and it was childishly simple. I felt a worse fool.

Tessa looked up at me and finished her thought. "It's a trait that those of us who see things clearly in black and white often have to deal with. Don't worry about it, Violar... I do appreciate your sentiment. I will take it as a compliment."

Practically suffocating in shame, I could have kicked myself. I felt like I'd kicked myself. My ego had suffered some serious bruises in the exchange. Somehow Tessa's attempts to make me feel better backfired and made me feel worse - though her remark about it being a compliment did help, somewhat.

There are moments in life where one suffers such keen embarrassment on one's own account that one never, ever forgets it. This was one of those moments. I promised myself that nothing like this would ever happen again.

Tessa's voice broke through. She seemed more uncomfortable than I was - of course - and, running a hand through her hair (which she wore loose tonight, I noticed belatedly), she changed the subject. "Right. I should work on my note to go with this gift. Do you have something to give him? Would you like to borrow some paper and a pen or pencil to write him a note?"

I started to shake my head no, but suddenly I changed my mind and nodded eagerly. Taking the proffered paper and pencil, I wrote in flowing characters:

_We're at war, Kurt, and I won't forget it. Nobody turns a centaur into a zebra and escapes without reciprocation - nobody! Watch your back. Your sister, Violar_

I was chuckling as I rolled up the little note. "I practically _told_ him what sort of prank I plan to pull on him, but he'll never get it. It's too deeply embedded in the riddle. Here you go." I handed the paper to Tessa.

She read it and nodded approvingly. "Nicely done." She handed it back to me. "It has that key amount of friendliness and brings up the pranking. An excellent choice for helping him remember and hold on. Are you going to leave a gift with it? Or shall the note stand alone?"

"I'd like to leave a gift with it, but I don't know _what_ to give him. I have no clue what he likes. Any suggestions, Tessa?"

Tessa furrowed her brow in thought. "Well, he already has your swords, so that's out." I had to chuckle. This whole day rubbed every centaurian hair I possessed the wrong way. At least Tessa could make a joke of it... "He loves to eat, especially pizza, popcorn, and sweets. Normally, he's very passionate about his faith, but right now, I'm not so sure about that... Perhaps a simple prank would be a good way to leave him a 'gift.' Maybe with the extra materials to pass the prank along to someone else in the future."

I nodded gravely. "I think I'll... just... leave him a gift, this time. Food sounds good. Something sweet sounds even better." After a pause, I added with a hint of shyness, "I don't know much about sweets here in this dimension, or which ones Kurt prefers most. Could... could you pick something out for me, Tessa?"

Tessa glanced to the side, then looked back at me, her eyes bright and dancing with excitement. "Yes! I have absolutely the best idea! Wait a minute." She fairly flew to the kitchen and started opening and closing cabinet doors, ransacking the place from top to bottom. The resulting racket was incredibly amusing from where I stood, and I bit my lip against quiet laughter. Her voice trailed out to me, barely audible over the sound of the doors frantically opening and closing. Tessa had a surprising amount of energy. "Where did he leave them? He's always changing his hiding spot. Why can't he just pick one location and leave them there? Oh no, that would be too logical."

I lost self-control and giggled. Suddenly I heard her victory shout. "Eureka!" Seconds later, she reappeared, clutching a bag of gummy worms. She held it out to me. "He _loves_ these!"

_Ugh!_ I thought. _Who in their right mind would enjoy gummy worms?!_ Then I grinned wryly at my own unintentional pun. Kurt wasn't exactly in his right mind...

Then I had to grin inwardly. _If this is Kurt Wagner's idea of the ideal diet, he has more of a right to the nickname 'bird' than Angel does._ I might have to tell him that later, when I wasn't in danger of being stabbed for such remarks.

I peered at the bag with a mixture of open curiosity and puzzled amusement. I glanced once at Tessa, then decided to take her word at face value and accepted the strange... food, if that's what this substance was called.

I prodded the plastic tentatively. "Gummy worms? Ew!" I shuddered, making a face, but I chuckled because Tessa was laughing at me. "Sounds absolutely disgusting," I told her, "but if he loves them, then I'll surely give them to him! I think... I think I'll take them to the chapel," I decided, "and leave them in the first pew. Perchance he'll come in to pray and see them there."

Clutching note and snack, I smiled warmly at Tessa. "I'll come back to see you before too much longer passes," I promised, positively brimming with a deep merriment. "Father Christmas' assistant has a gift to deliver." With that, I departed to carry out my very important mission.


	27. The Surprise

_We're at war, Kurt, and I won't forget it. Nobody turns a centaur into a zebra and escapes without reciprocation - nobody! Watch your back. Your sister, Violar_

The following morning, I trotted swiftly to the chapel and peeked inside, then rushed to the front of the hushed sanctuary and propped my gifts on the front pew. Atop the bag of gummy worms, I carefully placed the folded note, written in my distinctive flowing characters.

Smiling slightly, I straightened up, glancing around one more time before hurrying out of Kurt's domain. The knowledge that he had my swords was still fresh, and I felt somewhat vulnerable without them.

Just as the door swung shut, I froze in my tracks.

_BAMF_.

Kurt Wagner, the Incredible Nightcrawler, had arrived.

I paused, wondering what to do, once in a while switching my tail in an agitated way. I told myself that I should just walk away and let sleeping demons lie, but... somehow, I couldn't. Even after all the blunders I'd already made, something inside of me refused to give up. And I was curious. I very much wanted to know how he was doing.

After a moment, I steeled myself and turned around to face the foreboding chapel doors. This was probably a mistake. I was probably going to regret it. It was likely best to leave and let him be. But I never was one to shy away from danger, and I thought that maybe... _maybe_... I could talk to him for just a moment and come away unscathed.

My heart rate already escalating, I set my hand resolutely on the door handle and pulled, peeking hesitantly inside. He was there, sitting in the pew near the front of the chapel, and he'd already found my gift: He was digging into the bag of gummy worms. Nothing would induce me to try one for myself, not with a name like that. I shuddered to think what other desserts in America might be considered. Mushy cockroaches, perhaps?

I shut down those thoughts before I lost my appetite permanently and moved halfway inside the door, leaving open my route of escape should I need it.

"Guten... abend, Kurt," I said in halting German, not knowing what it meant at all.

Kurt froze. I heard a soft rustling, like a snake sliding against carpet, then the faint clink of metal - a familiar sound: My own swords. I could only guess he'd wrapped his tail protectively around them. Without looking at me, he replied, "Good evening, meine Freundin."

My lips quirked. Boldness definitely had its drawbacks. Annoyed with myself for taking the risks I chanced on a regular basis, I remained where I was. Part of me wanted to leave, but the other half of me wanted to talk with him a moment longer. I was determined to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't alone in this.

"Are you still watching your back?" I asked as an attempt at playful jesting.

He gave a soft laugh, even though he leaned down, nearly disappearing from my sight behind the pew. There was an even more recognizable clashing of blades as he gathered my swords into his arms.

A jolt of fright shook my confidence. I took an instinctive step backwards, my smile losing its brilliance. I questioned the wisdom of asking him questions like that at a time like this, then squared my shoulders and moved forward again, regaining my lost ground. I'd made her decision and I wasn't about to back down. But if he attacked me now...

"Ja... I am always watching my back, Fraulein..."

I stopped and stared at him, uncertain. Slowly he leaned over, and I heard him set my swords on the pew. Then he turned slightly to face me.

Instantly I hid my true feelings behind a smirk. "That's good, because you never know what sort of things I might pull."

Kurt smiled, turning still further. "That is true, Fraulein... you are one to be watched."

My smile softened at that. I stepped fully inside the chapel and let the door slowly fall shut behind me, leaving me in the semidarkness of muted candlelight. Kurt became almost invisible in the sudden shadows, except for his yellow eyes and the flash of his sharp white teeth.

My hooves were equally muted as I moved forward over the thick carpet until I stopped nearly before the altar, still maintaining a distance between us. I had to be very careful about this: I didn't want him to feel threatened, at all, as if I'd come to steal my swords back, but as I moved close, I sensed no rise in animosity from him... but I did sense guilt.

My heart clenched. I knew what I was about to do - what I _had_ to do, for his sake and mine, but... those blades were my most precious possessions. They were all I had left of my old life, besides the tatters of my pride, and my dignity, and my centaurian heritage... and my heart. Though, I had lost my heart too, on another day...

I had to do this, for Kurt. Hesitantly I raised her gray eyes to his, but there was no trace of indecision there.

"Kurt," I said quietly, "I want you to have my swords."

Kurt seemed to crumble. Instantly I questioned the wisdom of this move. I was trying to strengthen his will, not break it... and perchance I had inadvertently done just that.

"I... I cannot accept these." Kurt's soft tone was more reminiscent of the times before the Church of Humanity disrupted his life. He ran a claw down the nearest blade, causing the harsh metal to rasp in that memorizingly beautiful - almost bell-like - tone. "I did not mean to take them to begin with... I just couldn't stop myself. I tried..."

There would be plenty of time for selfishness later. I nodded quickly, silencing him, refusing to dwell on it now more than I had to. "I know you did... I know everything and I forgive you, Kurt," I said, looking at him earnestly. "You must believe that. Regardless, those are yours now." I smiled a little. My battle experience - which taught me to slay now and cry later - served me in good stead right then. "I do hope you like them. Being a swordsman yourself, you likely have pretty high standards for good blades."

Kurt smiled sadly. He was silent, and I was preparing another round of convincing speech when he slowly looked up at me, and I stopped in slight shock. His eyes were clearer than they'd been in several days, and I realized that my Danger Sense was remarkably quiet.

"Ja... I do like a good blade in my hands, Fraulein." He grinned at me, and delight sprung in my heart at how genuinely bright it was. "Or tail..."

I laughed appreciatively, unable to quell the sudden rise of hope I felt. Maybe I had made the right move after all! "Or tail," I repeated, nodding. "Well, I've got one of those, but it wouldn't do much good in combat." I swished the mass of white hair meaningfully. "Though I have caught the odd unfortunate creature in the eye, and I hear it does sting. That's more luck than anything."

We chuckled. My gaze swept up to the beautiful altar and the ornate cross before me, feeling less haunted - and tremendously relieved.

After a moment of contemplation, I decided not to push my luck and again looked at Kurt, still smiling gently. "If you need anything, anything at all, I'll be around. Most likely in the library though." I chuckled. "I'm learning a lot about this world by reading the professor's wonderful collection of literature, though I admit it does get me in trouble sometimes. I thought for a little while that Angel was an imposter, trying to pass himself off as something he wasn't."

Apparently he was in no hurry to get rid of me. "Ah... an imposter? I'm sure that would have been confusing..."

I gave a sheepish laugh and clasped my hands. I was in no hurry to leave, either. "Well it was my fault really - or perhaps the fault of my ignorance. See, we don't have angels in Narnia. So when I visited the library and found all these volumes marked with Angel's name, I naturally assumed they were about him. But I only had to read a few pages before I realized angels and Angel were two totally different things, and I couldn't believe Angel would masquerade like that on purpose, especially when he maintains a brutal honesty about everything else!" I broke off laughing again. "Poor Angel. He must have thought I'd lost my senses somewhere between the courtyard and the kitchen. But all's been put to rights now, and I have personally cleared him of the title 'imposter'."

Kurt laughed softly at all this - a sound that warmed me from the inside out. For some reason, things were different with him right now. "I am glad you've sorted it out, Fraulein. I can see how such things would be confusing..."

I smiled wistfully. "So am I. Now the idea is to convince _him_ of it." Unwilling to let the conversation fall into the melancholy, I shifted the subject slightly. "I'm sure it's not the last mistake I'll make. It's inevitable, you know, because so much here that is... second nature to everybody here is completely foreign to me!"

Noticing Kurt's marked change in demeanor, I was dying to ask him about it - but didn't dare. I merely nodded to the bag of snacks he still held. "Was that a good batch of gummy worms?"

Kurt picked up the bag, studying it. He pulled out a green and white one and stared at it a moment before lifting his gaze to me. "Who do I have to thank for the sweets?"

A smile spread over my face. "Tessa," I answered without hesitation. Abruptly a jolt of alarm shot down both my backbones and out my tail, and I glanced worriedly at Kurt, wondering if I'd just undone all the progress I'd seen in the past few minutes.

But Kurt merely nodded and smiled. "It sounds like her. I have a fondness for these things." He held a wriggling green gummy worm out to me. "Care to try?"

I instinctively recoiled, stiffening my forelegs and leaning away from the offering, my mind screaming: _Gummy worm?! Ew!_ But I was relieved enough about his reaction to Tessa's name that I forced myself to stand upright, grin tightly, and nod. I'd eaten worse things in the Calormen desert, but... it had been awhile. There was really nothing for it.

Gingerly I took the proffered worm between thumb and forefinger and, struggling not to grimace, I popped it quickly in my mouth before I could think myself out of the idea. Kurt was watching me with interest. I chewed once, making a face. Then twice, still making a face. Then a third time...

That's when the taste finally registered.

Suddenly my eyes widened, and a look of shocked joy spread over my face, erasing every trace of anticipated loathing. "MMM!" I cried in sheer delight, savoring the fruity sugar juices - primarily lime on that particular worm. "Oh my-" I broke off to chomp eagerly and swallowed with some reluctance. I turned sparkling eyes onto Kurt.

"Alright, I get it now," I declared, laughing a little. I was amused with myself, and imagining what my antics must have looked like to an observer made me almost giddy. I inclined my head. "You have EX-cellent tastes, Kurt. Most excellent indeed."

Kurt smiled. "Like I said... I do have a weakness for them..."

Now, I could see why.

Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his tail tightly around them, as if he were shy. He held out the bag. "You must try the red ones, Fraulein. They are my favorite..." Smiling softly, almost hopefully, he lowered his gaze to the bag.

I flushed slightly, but there was no hesitation in my stride when I moved forward and stuck my hand eagerly inside the bag, withdrawing a green one. With a slight chuckle, I dropped it back into the wriggling mass and fished around some more until I came up with a red worm. I munched experimentally at it. My eyes lit up again: This one was even more delicious.

"Strawberry?" I questioned, covering my mouth with one hand.

Kurt pulled out a red one as well and ate it, speaking around it. "I do not know, actually... that or cherry. I cannot decide. But either way, they are the best ones." He looked around. "Would you care to sit, Fraulein..."

The question was spoken as not a question, but a hopeful request. It all could have been a trap. But again I relied on my Danger Sense: It was silent. Completely silent. Laughing, sputtering slightly on my gummy worm, I touched the sapphire and shifted into a much shorter humanoid girl. I sat down beside him, eyeing the bag of gummy worms with undisguised interest.

"Hard to say," I agreed with his observation. "But regardless I also think they're the best. Of course I'm biased: Strawberries and cherries are the best fruits in the world, and blackberries follow right after."

He pulled another green gummy worm from the bag and studied it. "Well, I suppose I am partial to blueberry, myself."

I grinned. "What other flavors have you got in there?"

He smirked lightly and popped the candy in his mouth, then glanced back at the bag. "I believe these are the only flavors in this bag, Fraulein. But there are other kinds out there. I shall have to make sure you are well acquainted with all forms of sweets and candy during your stay here. I have an unrelenting sweet tooth, I'm afraid..."

Smiling, I sat back in the wooden pew. "I should like that very much, Kurt. Candy seems more plentiful here than in Narnia. In Narnia, sweets are a rare commodity." I chuckled. "I have a sweet tooth also, or maybe more than one, but I about drowned it the other day when I-" I laughed. "When I drank all those cans down enough to build a wall outside your door. I've rarely had that much fun, oh." I folded my arms, well content.

Kurt grinned, showing his sharp teeth without malice. He set the bag down beside me. "I'll be right back..."

_BAMF_. And just like that, he was gone.

Startled, I mentally replayed every second of our conversation, just to make sure I hadn't said something wrong. But there was no indication of anything in his expression to give me that impression. Tapping my fingers lightly against the pew, I turned my head idly, and my gaze froze on the swords. He'd left them there...

No, everything was definitely alright.

_BAMF_. I jumped at the muffled explosion as Kurt reappeared, holding two cans of soda in his thick three-fingered hands. Delighted, I smiled up at him, and he handed one of them to me.

"Oh, thank you!" I cried, eagerly accepting it. Gummy worms were delicious, but they could sure dry you out in a hurry, I discovered. Kurt crouched on the pew again, his tail flicking slightly in a pleasant way, and we snapped our drinks open. I quaffed a little of mine immediately and smiled. The sugar was already starting to affect my sensitive system. That's what happens when you have a very fast metabolism - like me, and like Angel. Kurt seemed to have an extremely high tolerance for it though that would have inspired envy, but I sure didn't mind being similar to Angel in anything.

Another side effect of this sugar rush was giddiness, and I was less inclined to caution. My innate curiosity was becoming unbearable. I looked up at him, perched on the pew, and finally asked the question that had been burning at me for quite some time. "Kurt, you seem... better. Are you?"

Kurt's yellow eyes fell on me. Then he slowly nodded. "It... it appears that I am. At least, I feel like myself. I had a visit from Quentin last night. He is a powerful mutant here, and he was ordered by Magneto to enter my mind and... er... fix the problems, which apparently he did. I can only take his word for it, and the fact that I have not felt the anger since then..."

I lowered my soda, my jaw falling open. My drink trembled dangerously as a wave of emotion engulfed me. Feeling as if I'd been stunned over the head by a mallet, I set the soda down on the pew before I could risk dropping it.

"Oh... oh... thank Aslan... thank God!" I managed, trying to wrap my logical mind around the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this was all over. Kurt merely smiled at me as I went through... everything, absolutely everything imaginable. I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh, or cry, or leap and shout, or sit and smile. Relief made me feel weak as all my tension departed without so much as a farewell, and a little tiny fountain of joy sprung forth. I pushed myself off the pew and turned around to give Kurt a hug, which he returned. I sank into his arms and let this wonderful reality become reality to me.

Then I drew back. "I think..." I looked towards the door, then back at Kurt. "Does she know yet?"

He followed my gaze to the door, knowing exactly who and what I was talking about. "Yes... she knows. I spoke to her just before you came in..."

Velvet warmth cloaked over me. I was so happy, for Tessa's sake... and for Kurt's. I wanted to tell him so. But I contented myself with silence: I'd just learned my lesson about the follies of speaking one's mind too openly. I would say nothing definitive until they themselves told me the state of their relationship first.

But deep down I knew what a tremendous relief this was for both of them.

"That's wonderful, Kurt." I felt as if I'd had the weight of the world lifted from my small shoulders. Suddenly I leaned forward and hugged him a second time, which he returned. "I am _so_ glad," I cried emphatically, letting go of him and retrieving my soda. All of a sudden, I was exhausted: That warmth worked like magic on my whole body. Adrenaline was gone, and with it, the will to stay awake. I smothered a quick yawn that came with the departure of my anxiety, and my eyelids drooped a little. "Um... I'd love to stay up and celebrate, Kurt, but I... I can't. I haven't been able to sleep lately, but maybe tonight, I will." I sighed, then lowered my head and gave another soft laugh - because I couldn't help it. I was _so_ happy. "Oh. I most definitely will. I'm delighted, absolutely delighted."

The blue mutant nodded. "Of course, Fraulein. I understand, and I was getting ready to get some sleep myself." Standing up, he performed an incredible stretch from head to tail, bringing from me a little laugh at his peculiar habits. There weren't words to capture how delighted I was to have the old Kurt Wagner back.

"But I hope to see you again soon," he said, coming out of his stretch and returning to normal. "And... danke... for not giving up on me. It means a lot..."

I fairly glowed as I gazed back at him; his yellow eyes were wonderfully clear and coherent. "Thank you, Kurt, for not giving up," I responded. "You made it possible not to give up on you because you never stopped fighting... difficult as it was. But you did well, really well. And now, you're free."

Kurt merely smiled. Smiling back at him, I stood up, and he walked me to the door, holding it open for me. I stepped into the hall. "Auf wiedersehen!" he said cheerily.

Laughing, I looked back at him and grinned. "Auf wiedersehen, Kurt!" I called, and I waved softly as the door fell closed behind him.

The gentle smile wouldn't leave my face as I touched my sapphire and shifted into a centaur, then trotted on air down the corridor, feeling as light as one of Angel's feathers - and smothering a variety of yawns the whole way. I was _so_ tired... but immeasurably happy. Everything had worked out so beautifully, somehow - with or without my interference. I didn't know if I'd helped or hindered, but right then, it didn't matter.

I slipped into Angel's room, unconsciousness closing in on the fringes of my mind. But I wanted to _remember_ everything first, from the moment I went to him in the chapel and found him an angry creature so unlike the Kurt Wagner I'd come to know and love; and then the disastrous spar which could have too easily ended my life; then the thievery of my precious swords - the swords that were all I had left of my parents, in the physical realm. Giving them up had been... so difficult. If I hadn't cared for Kurt as much as I did, I doubt I could have found the strength to do it. And perhaps that small gesture had severed the last ties to the anger which had held him bound, because during our conversation, he changed subtly.

I smiled, feeling my eyes crinkling at the corners. It just turned out beautiful. And my swords could not have been donated to a better cause.

I remember buckling my knees and falling to the floor... and I don't remember anything after that. I guess I was pretty tired.


	28. Tooth and Nail, and Hoof and Tail

_The Picture of Dorian Gray_ became more morbid with every turn of the page as Dorian Gray, the main protagonist, made his journey from an innocent young lad to a deranged man devoted to exciting his jaded immortal senses with every kind of debauchery available to him.

It was... awful: A beautifully-crafted story which transitioned from lighthearted fun and games, if you will, amongst noblemen and women of high social standing who found the debate of morals and ethics - from widely varying viewpoints - a particularly enjoyable pastime, to a very sharp reality. They gave the word "bored" a whole new definition. And while they so easily toyed with concepts of immorality and self-indulgence from the safety of their comfortable drawing rooms, and how truly exciting it was to step outside acceptible boundaries for a harmless fling, a beautiful young life was ruined right in their midst.

Perhaps it was because Dorian was too naive to resist the allure of such a lifestyle. Certainly Basil Howard's charmed painting, which eventually led to the poor painter's demise at the hands of his own artistic idol, opened up this previously unavailable avenue to the curious, wide-eyed boy, who remained always an outwardly handsome lad in the eyes of the _ton_ while he committed atrocities that would have gotten him executed several times over, if so much as a trace of his doings had been discovered.

Sitting on the floor of Angel's room, curled up in a quilt (since I was always colder in my human form), the tale took on an awful poignancy. Idly I twirled one of Angel's soft feathers between my fingers, reading and wishing this horrible saga would come to an end: That Dorian would wake from his nightmare and realize there really WAS hope, and that he didn't have to be this way...

Grace is a very hard thing to receive when one has spent one's life in purposeful rebellion. Such a one doesn't feel deserving of an ounce of it. And no wonder. But what does it take for one to get to a place where they realize grace is their only hope, and it is being offered to them freely - and in fact desperately - and if one doesn't reach out and grasp it, that they will perish?

What a terrible position to be in - and a very precarious one.

I didn't want to see Angel that way. And I don't see him that way... entirely. There is some truth in it however, and the parallels between Dorian and Angel were sickening: Someone with a delightful, simple spirit, and charm and wit; someone who was emotional and poetic and sensitive; one who loved wholly and completely and often foolishly; a sought-after figure in the popular circles - and, to top it all off, a young Adonis. The path Dorian Gray walked was too easily accessible to Angel.

I was still hoping to circumvent that if at all possible - and maybe even if it _weren't_ possible. It was all I could do not to throw my good sense out the window and hunt Angel down until he gave in... to everything: To me, to Aslan, to a better way of life. He'd be happier that way, I just knew it, and Angel meant that much to me and more.

But Aslan doesn't work that way. If Aslan was going to let Angel make his own choices, I had to do the same... no matter how much pain I suffered in the process. I had to remind myself of that a hundred times a day with balled fists and closed eyes, just to keep myself and my sometimes ruthless determination in check.

Dorian Gray was sinking ever faster, picking up frightening momentum as he careened down into the dark caverns of humanity - and then his entire life became a living hell, from which there was less and less chance of escape. Shadows were his companions: He both loved and hated them. There aren't words to capture the dreadful scope of it all, and yet Oscar Wilde was doing a pretty good job.

I was developing a headache when, mercifully, a knock interrupted my reading. Normally I can be a little irritable when someone or something pulls me from the midst of an absorbing book. This time, however, I was only too eager to hop up and answer the door.

And who better to find in the hall beyond than Kurt Wagner himself. My joy at seeing my blue visitor was instantaneous.

"Kurt! Oh, good evening! Do, do come in, if you have a mind," I said, opening the door wider and standing aside. _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ had made me a little jumpy. "Angel was kind enough to let me stay here because the rest of the mansion is getting crowded, but he and Jay are out right now doing Aslan knows what. They've left all their feathers on the floor though, just so we won't forget them." Grinning, I indicated the light dusting of red and white feathers clustered in various parts of the room - which I intended to clean up later, when I wasn't trying to decipher Oscar Wilde's genius. It _was_ genius, even if were too dreadful a thing for a person to contemplate.

Kurt stepped inside, chuckling lightly at the array of feathers. It was wonderful to have him back to his normal shy, kind, pleasant self. "Danke, meine Freundin."

I took a deep breath to release some of my tension and smiled. "So what brings you here? Were you looking for Angel?"

He shook his head. "I did not come to see Angel... but you." His blue tail appeared from behind his back, and my two swords were wrapped up in it. My heart gave a painful lurch and my smile wobbled. He held them out to me. "I believe these... belong to you..."

There was no mistaking the guilt in his voice, and a blush crept along his blue features. He turned an embarrassed shade of indigo and lowered his yellow eyes.

I blushed in kind. I couldn't help feeling... attached to those swords, but I didn't _want_ to feel that way. I should have been more willing to part with them, and if I were, Kurt wouldn't be suffering this kind of guilt now. I stared longingly at my blades: I couldn't help it. I really did want them, and he was offering them to me freely...

It was cruel to be faced with the same gut-wrenching choice a second time. Even if one were able to make the passage once, a second time ripped open fresh emotional wounds and was somehow more difficult.

"I... I... I... But..." I really didn't know what to say. Swallowing hard, I tried my best to gather my wits. Balling my fists, I looked up at him. "Kurt, I... it's quite alright, you can have them. I gave them to you yesterday. You... you may need them."

Kurt's eyes rose to mine with a deep sigh. All at once I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer. I was right: A moment later, he reached his tail over and laid my swords with a light metallic clatter atop Angel's bed. They caught the light and shimmered silver, winking at me.

"Fraulein... you are too kind... but I could never take these. I have many swords that I have been gathering over the years, and I could always use those. But these... these hold special meaning to you. I want you to have them back."

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't say anything.

Kurt smiled slightly and cocked his head to one side in that endearing manner of his. "Besides, you look rather... lost... without them at your side."

Tears surged up and clogged my throat. I clamped a hand firmly over my mouth and had to look away - both from the beautiful blades resting on the quilt and the sheepish Kurt, who stuck his large three-fingered hands in his pockets and was curling and uncurling his tail nervously while he stood there, waiting for me to say something.

In a moment, I was completely blind. The truth was... I _felt_ lost without them.

I lurched forward suddenly and threw Kurt into a hug, losing my battle with tears. Kurt wasn't prepared and I felt him stagger backwards from the force of my unexpected embrace, but I didn't let go of him. He caught himself and put his arms around me as I mashed my face against his shoulder in a helpless attempt to stop the flood.

Kurt inhaled softly. "Bitte, forgive me, Fraulein," he whispered in a voice husky with shame and remorse. "I feel terrible for having taken them."

I wept harder. Twice I tried to pull away from him, but both times the tears rushed faster, and I froze. The third time I sensed a respite from the storm, I waited until I was completely certain I could handle myself. Then I drew away and turned my face aside, wiping my cheeks in my own shame. I still hate crying in front of anyone. My poor murdered pride in that moment...

"It... wasn't your fault," I choked out. "I know it wasn't. I... failed." My shoulders dropped lower at the admission. I could tell Kurt was puzzled. "I failed you, and Tessa, and... and I failed my parents, again..." A sudden sniffle jarred me, and I slowly inhaled a large dose of oxygen. "I'm glad everything turned out alright, Kurt, so glad," I gushed out. "It's wonderful to have you back." I looked up and tried to smile, but doing so almost made me burst into tears again, so I let my features drop into neutrality.

Two large, velvety-soft hands caught my small ones and held them. I forced my eyes to meet his. "Fraulein, you have failed no one... please do not think that. You have been nothing but a friend to all of us since your arrival... do not treat yourself this way..."

I couldn't hold his gaze for long. I looked down again, but he craned his neck forward slightly, trying to look into my eyes. "And you are very successful at soda can pranks," he added impishly.

His well-timed joke made me drop my head again as my shoulders shook with mirth and a fresh cascade of tears fell. It was silly to hide the fact that I was crying, so I gave up and simply gazed at him with a regretful smile.

"Thank you," I replied. "That's... that's a wonderful compliment. Es-especially since you're... the reigning... jokester around here." I was silent for a moment, just... contemplating. Then I said quietly, "I'm glad you think that, Kurt, but I should have been stronger. My... my mother died because... because I couldn't... fix things." It took a minute for me to realize that probably didn't make much sense, so I went on. "My mother's name was Violar, and she... after my father died, tragically, she just... faded away and followed him a... a month later. I... I couldn't... there was nothing..." My voice was being swallowed up again, so I just shook my head and trailed off.

Kurt's yellow eyes radiated compassion. "Bitte, go on, Fraulein... I am listening. Perhaps it would help to let it all out..."

My eyes welled with more tears. I hadn't spoken of it to anyone, ever, and the pain of it was still as fresh today as it had been eleven years ago.

"Oh Kurt... I don't know..." But my resistance was gone, washed away with my tears. I felt horribly, terribly weak, and it was frightening. I was suddenly very cold, and I shivered. Not only did I not want to walk this particular Memory Lane, but behaving like this in front of anyone was... more embarrassing and shameful than I can say. I'm a centaur: I'm supposed to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders without breaking stride, and I'm supposed to make it look easy.

But it's not, and I can't. And here Kurt was, offering to help me with this burden. How could I very well refuse him? Truly, deep down, I _wanted_ to give in. I breathed out a deep sigh and gave vent to the words I'd pent up for far too long.

"My... real name is Zephina. That's what they named me. I can't..." I broke off and cleared my throat, lurching away from him in a moment of severe fright before submitting completely. "Zephina Freeheart Wildfire," I admitted. "The... the Council Ring is highly revered in Narnia, and outcast centaurs aren't respected... but the Council was too proud, and pride prevents wisdom, and we believed it with all our hearts." My words were growing steadier with conviction. "My mother Violar and my father Eolas - they weren't a part of the Council because they couldn't be in good conscience. They raised me elsewhere. We were alone, so we formed a stronger bond... and... and centaurs are herding people, naturally, so that bond was very strong," I explained.

"One day my father went on a trip to gather supplies up north in Lantern Waste. That was ordinary enough. Lantern Waste is dangerous and was being steadily overrun by werewolves from E-ettinsmoor... that's where those who don't follow Aslan live," I backtracked, lost in the memories but trying to remain cognizant enough to play tour guide to the uninitiated. "And they attacked him... and my mother and I knew nothing of it until we received a message that he was in the Council Ring, and we rushed to the Ring barely in time to say goodbye." Tears were falling and I made no effort to check them. The events of the past few days must have been the final crack in the dam. "My mother loved my father so very much, and losing him was like losing her own heart... she couldn't go on anymore. We left and drifted in the wilds, and I tried, so hard, to save her!" I looked up at Kurt with anguished eyes, pleading with him to help me. "So hard! Why did she have to die? If only I could have been stronger... I wasn't strong enough!"

My knees buckled and I sank to the floor, sobbing.

I heard Kurt drop to the carpet beside me, and he gathered me in his arms and held me tightly. Being embraced at a time like this made me feel even weaker, but I was too worn out to care. Unloading a burden I'd buried so deeply for so long was heartbreaking, and at the moment I wished I hadn't. Hurt engulfed me. A sea of painful darkness drowned me. I felt as if everything inside me had been torn to shreds and my parents had died all over again.

Kurt whispered a prayer over me. I couldn't understand the words - perhaps because I was crying too hard to focus on anything - but at some point, I realized there was something pressed beneath my cheek: The little cross in Kurt's vest pocket. I opened my eyes a slit. The world looked watery and gray.

"I am so sorry, Fraulein," Kurt said softly. "I know how painful this is... but danke for sharing it with me. And it is not your fault in any way. These things are not in our control... and we must trust that everything is in His plan and that He will see you through."

Without knowing quite why, I felt a sudden rush of peace, and I let out a tremendous sigh before closing my eyes again.

"It... it was his plan," I agreed quietly. "Even now, I know... but I wish I was stronger. I..." I knew I sounded like a foal, but I felt like one. "I miss my mother, Kurt."

I felt Kurt quivering slightly, and I knew he nodded. "I know, liebling... I know... it is... difficult. But there is nothing wrong in feeling this way. You should not try to mask your emotions or your pain. It is natural... and God knows your suffering..."

_Mask_. There was that word again - the same word I'd used time and time again while I talked with Angel. Every piece of advice I'd given him was also for me.

I relaxed further and sighed away another piece of my broken heart. Kurt's cross seemed to burn an imprint into my cheek. It was like a reminder that Aslan was there, and I felt so comforted by it that I didn't move - even though it hurt like fire.

I knew Kurt was right - just as I knew I'd been right when speaking with Angel. But everything was so... hard. "I don't know how to... to not mask my feelings, because then I'm weak and I can't let myself be weak." _I can't let myself be weak._ It was a mantra I'd repeated to myself for years. I was strong because I told herself I was strong. I was a warrior because I strove with every fiber of my being to _be_ one. Realizing all this now did nothing to encourage a change on my part: It had been critical to my survival to believe these things. My mother had lost that belief at some point, but I had clung to mine - even though I'd been clinging to a lie.

I lived. She did not.

My heart crumbled a little. "I know he knows my pain," I said quietly. "He... Aslan showed me that, very clearly. He... he took me to the Stone Table..." I brought one hand up and rubbed back and forth at the tears in one eye. "He showed me what he suffered out of love for all of us, and how could I be angry with him after that? He's... he's become like a new father to me, in so many ways. He treats me special. He spends a lot of time with me... always... always talking with me, and being there... I..." I bit my lip as tears of a different kind came up. "I've grown to love him, Kurt. I'd do anything for him. But I fear, deep down, that I'm still... angry... because he let my parents get taken away from me." I closed my eyes against the bitter shame of that truth.

I felt Kurt nodding again, once in a while mumbling prayers I still couldn't understand while I spoke and in between his own sentences. "Fraulein, even the greatest servants of God in history have been angry at Him at some time in their lives. It did not make them weak, nor did it cause God to think of them any less." And there was a concept I really didn't understand... "We are frail creatures, liebling... and God is strong. He can handle our anger. It is better that we admit that, and confess it."

There was a pause, as though Kurt were gathering himself for a spring. I listened quietly in my self-imposed darkness. Kurt was inexplicably prying guilt and shame from my grasp, and it left me feeling... empty. Totally, completely empty. I needed my guilt and my shame, strangely enough, even though they crippled me.

His prayers soothed my jangled soul. Tentatively, I examined my heart as if touching a wound to see if it still hurt. I felt... nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I frowned at the sensation, not knowing what to make of it. It was then that I remembered Angel plucking a feather from his own wing, and his own silent contemplation in the midst of our talk - and then I knew. He, too, felt numb inside. It was so concerning, to feel nothing, as if I'd ceased to exist. Suddenly I couldn't blame Angel for choosing pain over that blank emotional void.

Kurt's soft voice interrupted any drastic plans I might've had to do something similar. "I have spent many times angry at Him myself..."

I looked up at him in surprise. "You, Kurt?" I blurted. It had never occurred to me that he might have been angry with God at one time or another, but then I felt very foolish: He had told me only a fraction of the suffering I knew he'd endured in his lifetime at the hands of those who persecuted him for the very sin of being born. A flush colored my pale cheeks, and I let out a soft laugh of embarrassment - however incongruous mirth might have been just then.

"We are frail," I agreed helplessly, half-hiding my face beneath one hand while not moving because the cross remained on my cheek. "And lacking in wisdom, and... and so many other things... I could never live up to the Council Ring's standards, Kurt. I don't know how they do it."

From beneath the shelter of my hand, I saw Kurt gazing out beyond my head, to Angel's window. "Ja... I have been angry at God... many times. I can remember going to the cathedral one evening and yelling at the top of my lungs up into the sky, venting my anger. But it was only after doing so that I was able to get beyond it, and allow God to soften and mold my heart." He paused, wrapped in his own memories. "It is not wrong to be angry, Fraulein... but we cannot let it consume us. We must face it head-on, without fear. Only then can we master it, and change ourselves. We are not perfect creatures, but we serve a perfect Creator."

_We are not perfect creatures, but we serve a perfect Creator._ That phrase resonated inside of me. It was beautiful - and thankfully true.

I listened, completely still. The storm had passed, leaving only an occasional residual sniffle in its aftermath. Sometimes I opened my eyes; other times I left them closed. Emotionally, I was exhausted. Pain this deep did not go away overnight. It was more like an onion: Each layer needing to be peeled away before the core could be reached. A lot of layers could form in eleven years, and I had been a dedicated layer-builder, burying my sorrows again, and again, and again - just so I wouldn't have to deal with it. Just so I could survive.

Now one of those layers was missing, leaving me vulnerable. Kurt's words fell on a soft heart and sank straight in.

_We are not perfect creatures, but we serve a perfect Creator._

I flinched slightly, imagining gentle, humble, soft-spoken Kurt - as he seemed to me when he wasn't under the influence of mind manipulation - standing at the top of a cathedral and yelling at his God. What circumstances drove him to that extreme, I didn't dare ponder. "Mm... that must have been... terrible." Compassion on Kurt's behalf actually did me tremendous good, shifting my focus from my own troubles onto someone else's. A faint smile appeared when he finished. "Yes... fortunately, He is perfect," I mumbled, "but being imperfect... does horrible damage to my pride." I let out a soft chuckle, closing my eyes again. The cross against my cheek had ceased to burn: It seemed a part of me now. I could scarcely even feel it.

Kurt was nodding again, and there was a slight smile in his words. "Ja... it seems He has a way of tearing down our pride - a much needed action, but one we sometimes fight, do we not?" Kurt's tail thumped twice against the floor, and he lifted one of his large hands to trace the outline of a scar on his cheek.

I smiled wearily at the irony of it all, more peaceful than I had been in... quite awhile. "Tooth and nail," I answered with quiet mirth, "and hoof and tail."

Kurt laughed slightly at my reply, and I joined him - albeit chokingly. Finally I worked my arms around him and hugged him in return for the first time during that gut-wrenching hour. "Indeed, you and I... we put up quite the fight."

I chuckled again, opening my eyes a little. "Yes we do, but I don't feel like fighting for awhile. What I want to do now is..." I sniffed. "Sleep."

As if I weighed no more than one of Angel's feathers, Kurt helped me stand up. My knees were like Jello, and I set my hands on his shoulders until my feet could figure out how to hold me up again.

"I can understand that, Fraulein," he said to me. "You must be exhausted. Sleep would do you good..."

I lifted a tired gaze to Kurt and fingered the imprint of the cross on my cheek. "Thank you so much, for everything," I said with quiet gratefulness shining amid the tears still in my eyes. "You do let God use you. Aslan bless you for it. I'm exhausted but... but it feels good. Better than it did before."

Kurt just gave me one of his kind, shy smiles. I withdrew a little and set a hand over my still-aching heart, as if to ease the pain; then looked around somewhat dully, my mind dazed from everything I'd just experienced. My disoriented gaze settled on the swords resting on Angel's bed, and with a warm smile I scooped them into my arms and hugged them like beloved teddy bears. I fancied they still carried, somewhere deep within their steel core, the warmth of my mother and father. I needed that. And I was so happy to have them back. So I held them close.

Then I half-stumbled to the pillow and blanket in the corner and dropped to my knees on the floor, resting there a minute before I picked up the blanket and curled up in it without bothering to revert to my centaur form. Pulling my twin blades close, I blinked tiredly at Kurt. He stood there, still smiling gently at me.

"Thank you," I whispered again, smiling peacefully. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The Incredible Nightcrawler took a step back, nodding. "Of course, Fraulein... I wish you a pleasant sleep... Auf Wiedersehen..."

He smiled at me, and I smiled back, then closed my eyes. Welcome oblivion was descending over me. "Off Wizenframe," I mumbled back, somewhat nonsensically, but my mind was fast falling into unconsciousness. From somewhere far away, there came the sound of a distant _BAMF_ and the sharp scent of brimstone.

And in my dreams, I found Aslan waiting for me.


	29. Kurt's Gift

I knew things were really getting back to normal when I received a visit from Kurt Wagner a few days later. After a joyous greeting, Kurt got right to the point.

"I have a favor to ask... I am going to be gone for a few days, and I'm going to miss Tessa terribly. I would like to leave her with a few tokens of my thoughts each day... And... On Monday, if you have time... could you possibly drop by and drop this off to Tessa for me?" He produced an entire tray of - well, the surprise - from behind his back. "Hopefully, it will make her smile..."

It made _me_ smile. "Oh Kurt! Most definitely, I'd be delighted! How shall I do it?"

He grinned, flicking his blue tail. "I shall let you decide how best to do it... you are a clever centaur."

I had to laugh, flushing a little at the compliment. "I won't let you down," I promised. "Do you have anything else you'd like me to do for her as well?"

He shook his head. "I have our friend Lorna doing something for her on Saturday or Sunday, so this would come perfectly, should it be delivered to her on Monday."

"I won't forget," I assured him solemnly. Rarely had I been entrusted with so important a mission in Narnia; this was a first for New York... even if it was just a prank. This was for Kurt and Tessa. That made it infinitely more than a simple prank or even an important mission - much more.

I bid him to have a safe and wonderful trip. "The Lord be with you, Kurt."

He smiled at me. "Danke... and you..."

Once Kurt was gone, I carried my precious - and rather heavy - burden into Angel's room and plunked it in the corner. Then I backed away and folded my long centaurian limbs, staring at Kurt's gift thoughtfully.

Kurt and Tessa were rare, truly rare. I had a lot to learn from them.


	30. Redemption

I woke up disoriented from a deep, deep sleep. I'm normally a light sleeper and will awaken at the first sign of trouble, but tonight was different. Tonight I was completely content with life in general.

_I wonder why,_ I thought to myself, shifting slightly. A number of things hit me all at once: I was still in my human form. I was cold. I was wrapped in a blanket in the corner of Angel's room. I was holding my swords.

Loud celebration exploded in my brain. _Kurt Wagner is well again! Kurt Wagner is well again!_

With that exultant theme playing over and over in my mind, I sat up and glanced at the clock. It was only ten, and Tessa was probably still up. I shifted into a centaur, donned my belt - and sheathed my swords with great warmth and care, valuing them even more than ever - and departed Angel's room, breaking into a swift canter. I was feeling good all over.

Tessa was slow to answer my knock. She stood in the doorway - not wearing her glasses, which was unusual - with a blanket draped over her shoulders. I noticed her expression first: It looked light and relieved. Lines of stress which had formed over the past few days had vanished. Her smile was tired, but genuine.

"Hello, Violar. I'm sorry, I was resting. How are you today?"

I couldn't contain myself. "I'm great, Tessa. Kurt's back to normal but he said you already knew. And... and then he gave me my swords back." I looked down and patted the twin hilts of my weapons, feeling unspeakably grateful.

Tessa smiled weakly, her eyes also on my swords. "Yes, Kurt is back to normal. In fact, I might say things are better than normal."

Exhaustion weighed heavily on the poor woman. I looked up at Tessa again and belatedly registered everything she'd told me in greeting. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you... I could come back later..."

Tessa pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shrugged indifferently. "I'm not feeling well today. So I wouldn't be very good company. But you are welcome if you would like to come in."

My smile faded to sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, Tessa. Maybe you'd like some... dandelion tea?" I ducked my head so I could fit under the doorway and noticed Tessa turning a little green at the idea of dandelion tea. I promptly decided _not_ to bring up that particular remedy again and hastily changed the subject, touching my sapphire choker and shifting into a shorter girl to make things generally easier. "I'm a healer, and healers are used to lousy company. But it's good to hear things are better than normal. What... what exactly do you mean by that, if I might ask?"

Tessa returned to the couch and curled up at one end of it, laying her head against the arm rest. When she was settled, I pressed a gentle hand to her forehead to feel her temperature. "Well, since all this has happened, Kurt and I have decided that we need to stop letting our fears and doubts dictate the level of our relationship. Instead, we are moving forward and officially dating." Despite her condition, she laughed lightly. "It's been wonderful."

I gasped. Joy surged through me. "Tessa, that's... wonderful!" I squeezed her shoulder briefly, then sat back on the floor, regarding Tessa with curiosity. "So... I'm a little puzzled. What did you mean, when you told me that one day..." I trailed off, not sure if Tessa was feeling up to telling the story.

She frowned at me. Her frowns can be somewhat intimidating, but this particular frown was one of confusion. "You're going to have to complete that question, if you want me to answer it."

I chuckled sheepishly, but I was heartened by Tessa's spunk. She didn't seem to be doing too badly, however ill she was feeling. And I was almost too delighted to think straight. Actually several factors were contributing to my current state of euphoric mindlessness, but never mind that.

"Alright. The last time we spoke, you said you weren't sure of your relationship with Kurt... that I'd leapt to conclusions." A slightly mischievous grin tweaked threateningly at my features as I added with a soft chuckle, "If I may say so, I... sort of didn't believe you."

Tessa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. When she opened her eyes again, she was smiling at me. "For someone like me, emotions are not easy to deal with. Give me logic any day of the week... it's so much more consistent. You also can't feel pain from logic. So, your suggestion of our relationship being more was almost frightening..."

_Oh Aslan._ I felt my eyes widen and I sat back, flinching as a momentary jolt of pain rushed through my nervous system. Then I took Tessa's hand between both of mine and gazed at her in earnest.

"Tessa, please, please forgive me. You were right... I am too quick to speak my mind, and... you're not the only one I've upset with my candid nature." I bit my lip, my eyes lowered to the floor. Then I looked up at her again. She was listening patiently. "I'm just a young centaur... I have so much to learn about wisdom, and when to hold my tongue. Thank Aslan everything worked out alright in spite of my actions..."

Tessa's other hand slid out from the folds of her blanket and patted mine. "It's really okay. I understand the trouble that can result from speaking one's mind openly."

I flushed. "In Narnia, such a mistake wouldn't be tolerated among centaurs," I muttered. "I'm fortunate this happened in New York, but... if what I said had had a negative effect on your relationship with Kurt, I wouldn't have been able to live with that on my conscience. I'm trying... very hard... but perfection is so slow in coming, Tessa."

Pulling her free hand away from mine, Tessa drew her blanket still closer. She seemed to be quite cold. "If your words could create problems, then the relationship shouldn't be. The opinions of onlookers, even close friends, shouldn't tip the scales like that. It wouldn't be right."

I mulled over that, then laughed sheepishly. "Impeccable logic," I responded warmly, smiling. "Nothing swayed my parents either. You're right... that is how it should be. You'd be a welcome member of the Centaur Council, all except for one thing: They never have _fun_."

Tessa smiled and went on. "And perfection is a worthy goal, but hardly attainable. Besides, if we become truly perfect, what else is there to learn and improve upon? There's no fun in that."

Grinning, I rose to my knees and felt Tessa's forehead again. Her temperature _was_ slightly elevated. It was just a mild fever - nothing to worry unduly about. I searched the Computer Room until I discovered a linen closet, and withdrawing a soft purple blanket, I returned to Tessa and covered her warmly with it. She sighed and her eyes drifted shut.

"Perfection is, to centaurs, the one goal worth striving for during one's six-hundred-year life. I agree with you though." I chuckled slightly. "I'm free to agree or disagree with the ways of my kin all I like because I'm not part of the Centaur Council. My parents left before I was born, and I was raised an outcast. An outcast I've remained... until I came here. And I've also learned the great joys of having fun even when one has grown out of foalhood, thanks in particular to Kurt and Angel."

I laughed softly, then cut myself off, abruptly realizing that Tessa had fallen fast asleep. My gaze gentled as I looked down at her.

She was so much like my mother. Peaceful in sleep, I took a good look at her for the first time: She even had dark hair, the same fine features, the same granite spirit, and the same wise advice. My mother had been a little softer, and gentler - at least on the outside. Inside, I sensed many of the same traits in Tessa that my mother once possessed. And Kurt was steadily bringing those hidden traits to the forefront. For one thing, I already noticed that, even though she wasn't feeling well, she was laughing more.

I made sure she was comfortable, then tiptoed out of the Computer Room and closed the door softly behind me. I changed into the palomino centaur I was and walked placidly down the empty corridor. My hooves clopped on the wood floor in the semi-darkness. It was about eleven, by now, and I wasn't feeling up to stargazing that night, so instead of going out to the courtyard, I headed back to Angel's room. He was out late - again. He probably wouldn't be back before I crashed, though I would hear him sneaking in through the window and pretend to sleep through it.

At the moment, though, I was very aware of one thing. We all make mistakes. Failure happens. How we deal with that failure dictates our future. We can use failure to prevent similar failures in far more serious situations down the road. Fortunately for me, this counted as a... pseudo-failure. In spite of my blundering influence, Aslan had worked things out between them, and Tessa was right: Love should triumph over every obstacle if it's real and if it is to survive.

Kurt and Tessa were meant to be. That's all there was to it.

What a delightful thought. Upon reaching my destination, I curled up happily in the corner and fell asleep smiling.


	31. Riding in Cars with Tessa

With things at last returning to normal, I couldn't wait to see Tessa. Casually I munched gummy worms and knocked on her door.

A few days had passed since Kurt Wagner regained his usual charm, uninhibited by the Church of Humanity - or any other form of mind control. Except it sounded as if mind control had been partially responsible for correcting the problem, if I interpreted Kurt's explanation correctly - which I may or may not have. So much about this world is still beyond my comprehension.

Regardless, I was delighted. So relaxed was I that not only did I remain in my humanoid form, but I also didn't hear Tessa sneak up on my until the plastic bag in my hand suddenly crackled. I whirled and lurched backwards in shock. Tessa stood there, laughing at me and happily eating the gummy worm she'd cleverly stolen.

"Hello, friend," she said amiably as if nothing at all had happened. "What brings you by today?"

I slumped against the wall as my racing pulse quieted down. I am _not_ used to people sneaking up on me. As the absurdity of it all hit me, I suddenly giggled.

"Please, please! Just remember not to do that to me when I look like a centaur. I have _instincts_, and being kicked really hurts." Grinning, I held out the bag of gummy worms and offered Tessa another - which she accepted, still laughing in amused triumph. "To answer your question, nothing of great importance. I just wanted to visit you and feed you gummy worms, because Kurt was kind enough to give me some and I'm going to go wild if I eat this whole bag on my own! I didn't dream you'd just _take_ one though." I narrowed my eyes at her. "Thief."

We entered her quarters, both of us in high spirits. Tessa introduced me to microwaveable popcorn (which I'd only known previously as something in a small, rectangular, flat-shaped plastic things that come tumbling down on one's head while one stumbles about the pantry gathering supplies for a courtyard picnic with Angel). As it turns out, popcorn are these fluffy creamy-yellow kernels which are absolutely delicious, especially when faintly flavored with butter. Preparing popcorn is rather a trip: It _explodes_ in the microwave. Marvelous fun.

Like a couple of girls, we piled up on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn, a SOBE and a Dr. Pepper (which I also love) and practiced tossing individual kernels arcing into our mouths. (Tessa is an expert at this; I have to cheat most of the time.) After being here in the Computer Room, holding back tears and discussing weighty and depressing things, it was a marvelous change to laugh and talk about more frivolous subjects. Like pranking.

"One of the children had a little box of... of..." I munched a few kernels of popcorn to help me recall what it was. "Something that snapped," I murmured. Then I snapped my fingers. "Firecrackers. Little tiny firecrackers. They were throwing them on the ground and they burst on contact. It made a lot of noise, but no mess. I was thinking," I looked over at Tessa with a glint in my gray eyes, "that we ought to put some _under Kurt's pillow_."

That set us both off. Laughing, we tossed ideas for a joint prank back and forth. Kurt comes up with brilliant pranks all on his own; it takes an army of ingenious minds to dream up and enact anything close. In our own favor, Tessa and I count as "an army of ingenious minds" - in my opinion.

Somewhere in the middle of our scheming session, I suddenly stared at Tessa's Dr. Pepper and remembered it was Tuesday. I lurched to my feet and set my SOBE Blizzard down. "I'll be right back..." With no further explanation, I bolted from the room with my hair and skirt flying wild in my wake.

In a few moments, I was back... as a centaur. I was a little loaded down, and my legs were splayed slightly to balance my load as I ducked to fit my eight feet beneath the doorframe, but I was grinning from ear to ear.

"I have been chosen!" I announced momentously. "I bring gifts, from... the Blue Elf!"

So saying, I sidestepped, showing off my special burden before carefully lifting it into my arms and setting it on a nearby table:

A giant plastic tray of 2-liter Dr. Peppers.

Tessa was beside herself. "Isn't he so sweet!" she exclaimed, rising to take the entire tray of soft drinks to the kitchenette counter instead. I couldn't help noticing how physically strong Tessa was; she lifted the whole load with ease. "This is the second gift I've gotten since he left... He's making sure that I'm not depressed without him. Thank you so much for being one chosen!"

I glowed. "That's what he told me... he said he was going to miss you terribly and wanted to give you with a token of his thoughts each day." Impulsively, I leaned forward and hugged Tessa. "I'm thrilled he chose me too. I was overjoyed that he picked me to deliver you all this soda!"

Tessa hugged me back. Joy rippled off her in waves and waves. "I really don't know what to say... I don't know that anyone has ever gone to this much trouble for me... and here I am planning pranks against him when he returns." We laughed at that. "That's just one more sign that he's so much better than I am... and that I really don't deserve to have him..."

My own joy tripled even as a familiar ache caused a lump in my throat. Drawing away, I shook my head vehemently and took Tessa by the shoulders. "You... sound... _just_ like my mother," I responded, inexplicably overwhelmed. "She always said that... and so did my father. They both said they didn't deserve each other. Being in the middle, I got to see... both sides." My smile broadened again. "They were both wonderful. And they never could outdo each other! Though they tried. Aslan knows they tried. And now," I went on, releasing Tessa and rubbing my hands together, "it's your turn. I'll do whatever I can to help. If you need me to lure him into a trap... or be a messenger... or... or anything, absolutely anything..." I broke off in giggles.

That sent her fertile imagination into motion. Her smile softened as she pondered. It seemed to me as if hundreds of ideas were conjured with frightening speed, then either set aside or discarded; some pieces of varied muses were diced and altered and pieced together with other scattered ideas to form brand new strategies.

Suddenly she arrived at her conclusion. I knew before she turned to me with a wider smile and blue eyes positively dancing with excitement. She picked up the bag of gummy worms lying on the low coffee table and tossed it lightly in her palm. "Violar, I think I have the perfect plan..."

Moments later, I was once again in my humanoid form as Tessa nearly dragged me to the garage - and her black convertible. Remembering the car a wounded Angel drug himself out of a few months ago - upon my arrival to New York City - I cringed a little. Going to the passenger side of the car, I faced a new dilemma: The door.

Tentatively I set both hands on the shiny black surface, but nothing happened. Noting that the handle seemed out of place, I slipped my hand into its contour and fiddled with it until, quite by accident, the door popped open. I ducked awkwardly and slid into the seat, then _very gently_ shut the door after me. I shifted in the seat, unaccustomed to the plush comfort of modern carseats, and had a look around me. Tessa's car is _nice_. It smelled of fresh leather and other synthetic materials I couldn't identify, but it was altogether a very pleasant and uplifting scent.

Tessa was watching me in amusement. Then she reached over her shoulder and brought out the seatbelt, drawing it out and buckling it with a flourish - obviously for my benefit. I copied her and pulled it out very far, then inserted the silver buckle into the lock with a satisfying click.

Tessa turned the key in the ignition, and the car hummed to life. She smiled at me. "Are you ready?"

I grinned. "Oh yes, I'm ready."

Tessa expertly backed the car out of its parking space, then shifted gears and drove out of the garage. My eyes were wide as the car lurched us around.

"Forgive my ignorance," Tessa said presently, "but have you ridden in a car before?"

I shook my head, gripping the sides of my seat; torn between exhilaration and a giddy sort of fear. The strangest thing of all was to be moving that quickly, yet unable to feel the wind in my hair - a sensation I keenly missed.

That's when Tessa pushed a button. Something above me made a buzzing noise and the roof receded as I ducked in startled shock.

"Since we've slowed down," Tessa was saying, "I thought a bit of fresh air might be nice. And I'll try to take it easy on you during your first car ride. We'll be there soon."

But at the sight of the sky and the feel of the wind, I suddenly forgot to be afraid. Releasing my deathgrip on the seat - and leaving clawmarks to slowly recede from the material - I fiddled with my seatbelt until a press of the button released the trigger and set me free. Then I scrambled up, balancing neatly on my hands, until I was kneeling on the seat. I rose up and stuck my head through the open roof. New York City was all around me - people, cars, huge buildings, and a lot of noise. Horns were honking, people were shouting, and the wind was singing in my ears. I laughed in sheer delight.

Tessa was also laughing - probably as thrilled with the wind as I was, I supposed. (Looking back, now that the idea of cars is a more familiar one, I wonder if she was laughing _at_ me!) We turned into a store parking lot, and Tessa set a steadying hand against my ribcage to keep me from falling over in case I chanced to lose my balance during the maneuver.

We pulled into a parking space, and Tessa shut off the engine. "We're here... the supermarket," Tessa remarked, looking up at the sky. "It doesn't look like rain and we won't be inside for very long, so I think I'll leave the top down." She exited the car.

So did I. I leaped out of the car in one fluid motion and landed on the pavement, feeling as if I'd just had the time of my life - which I had.

Ignoring the oddly scornful looks of jaded folks who rode in cars all the time, I skipped over to Tessa - yes, I _skipped_. For awhile, it was great to forget my dignified centaurian heritage; yet it was _because_ I was a centaur that I skipped: The motion was natural to me.

"No rain in sight!" I crowed. "And this is the store, I expect?" I looked up at the huge glass windows plastered with garish signs declaring mega-sales on meat and cheese and bottles of Gatorade. It was... incredible - quite a change from the quaint little grocer in Bergdale. I felt like a child at a fair.

Tessa and I walked into the supermarket together. The glass doors slid open automatically before us, which was remarkable. Tessa was used to all this. "Yes, this store specializes in all kinds of food stuffs," she explained calmly. "They also carry some other random items, especially seasonal items. But we only need candy, so this should do."

I had trouble _remembering_ to walk. I wanted to take it in all at once, gazing around with unveiled wonder at florescent lights which were bright as small suns, fixed in blinding white tubes over the ceiling. I'd never seen so much food in one place in my life - not even at the great feasts of Cair Paravel. The floor was black and white-checked linoleum. Shoppers pushing what looked like little metal carts around edged past me, looking at me strangely (I couldn't blame them), but I was too awed to pay attention. How very high those aisles were! And how well-stocked!

Tessa was walking slowly, but I still fell behind. Shaking myself from my reverie, I darted after her into the candy aisle, and there was confronted with more sweets than I'd ever imagined in the wildest dreams of a sugar-happy foal. The scent of chocolate permeating the hallway did funny things to my brain and made my mouth water.

"Oh, and, so, what are we going to get?" I asked dizzily, trying to recall past stomachaches brought on by excessive sugar to quell my rising excitement.

Tessa promptly grabbed ten packages of gummy worms before standing back to study the rest of the selection. "Our primary purpose was to get these... but now that we are here, I can see other candy that could come in handy. Do you see anything that you would like? Anything you'd like to try for the first time?"

I swallowed hard. At that moment I wanted to mow a nice swath through the chocolate, leaving a shining sea of empty wrappers in my wake. "I don't know, but _something_ here smells really good..." My sensitive nose traced that particular aroma to bags marked Milky Way, Snickers, Three Musketeers, Twix... I stopped reading and stared back and forth in bewilderment, then queried, "Could I... try one of these, Tessa?"

Tessa peered at the bags, then laughed and picked up one of each. "Forget trying one of them. You need to try them all." She also added Mounds, Kit Kat, and Reese's to the pile of bags in her arms. As she tried to balance them all, she grinned. "Perhaps we should have gotten a basket."

My heart warmed. Never mind the candy; _Tessa_ is sweet. I burst into giggles and quickly plucked the topmost bags from Tessa's teetering piles. "I'm happy to be a basket," I responded. "This is what prank assistants are good for." I looked down at the rest of the shelves. "Do we have one of each?" I queried somewhat anxiously. Then, on contemplating my own tone of voice, I smiled. "I'd hate to miss out on one. Go ahead and hand whatever you like to me and I'll help you carry it up to the shopkeeper."

Tessa obligingly went through the entire aisle, picking out one of every variety. "Well, these are all the ones I would start with," she muttered as if to herself. "Except..." She looked around for something more, and she snatched a bag of Hershey's Hugs and Hershey's Kisses, adding them to our collection with a grin. "I think I have more to add to my idea."

Expertly balancing her load with admirable precision, she also checked to make sure my own burden was evenly distributed before leading the way to the checkout. She must have sensed my irrational anxiety to leave anything behind, for she said to me, "This will work for now. If you want to try something else next time, we can."

As she led the way to the front of the store, Tessa went on. "We don't see the shopkeeper here. The store is run by a manager and he oversees cashiers. They are the ones who we will pay for our items. Unless we decide to do a self-checkout. Which sounds like a greater adventure for you?"

Juggling only slightly, since Tessa's good sense in stacking was remarkable, I blinked and tried to figure out what self-checkout meant. Finally I gave up and laughed. "Well, I'm interested to see how these... 'cashiers' operate," I answered. "We'll come to the store several times during my stay at Xavier's, I'm quite sure, because..." I grinned. "Opportunities for pranks are endless."

After depositing our load on the black conveyer belt, Tessa whipped out her credit card to pay for our goodies. I was quite shocked when the conveyer belt moved of its own accord, and I eyed it warily to see what else it would do. The belt _stopped_ patiently to allow the cashier ample time to run the bags of candy over a curious metal device which let out a loud "BEEP!" at each one. A teenage boy stood at the end of the line, putting each bag of candy into a plastic bag. I found myself watching him with narrowed eyes, but he seemed indifferent to the idea of candy... and besides, he knew where to get it. A huge - almost endless - supply was in aisle four, in case he got hungry.

I shifted closer to Tessa. That conveyer belt was freaky. I spoke softly to her. "This would be easier to carry out if I were..." I chuckled and raised my eyebrows meaningfully at Tessa, then looked around to make sure no one else was listening. Even then, I had no intention of giving breath to the word "centaur" in public. It was just too dangerous.

In an odd way, I felt glad to have survived the experience as Tessa and I took the bags from the boy. Tessa thanked him and the cashier politely. "We're all done," she said to me. "Are you ready, Violar?"

I paused to survey the store in one long, sweeping glance. Then I turned to Tessa and nodded, smiling and inclining my head to the cashier in a polite gesture of farewell. The cashier gave me an odd look. But I was already walking out with Tessa, staying close to her as if for protection. I don't trust New Yorkers.

"So what did you think of your first trip to the grocery store?" inquired Tessa as we got into the car and put our newly-acquired goods in the backseat.

"I think it was great!" I responded with great exuberance. I didn't bother buckling my seatbelt this time, however. I already planned on poking my head through the roof once we were on the road. "I can't wait to get started now," I added, rubbing my hands and grinning at Tessa.

Tessa seemed to know what I was thinking. She eyed me with an amused smile, but she was no-nonsense when she spoke, shaking her head slightly. "You may enjoy the wind while we're here in the slower traffic, but you'll have to sit back and buckle your seatbelt once we get onto the open road."

I gave her the sort of sudden downcast expression a child adopts when they've just been told to save dessert for AFTER dinner. Very reluctantly, I nodded. "Yes Mom," I teased. The words brought an abrupt smile to my face, and I looked at Tessa with twinkling gray eyes.

Tessa smirked and played right along without skipping a beat. "Now, honey, I'm only looking out for your safety. After all, a centaur lives for a very long time. Would you want that life to be marked with the memory of a very painful accident and permanent physical scarring? A seatbelt has been proven to be very helpful in preventing those horrific events." She paused and shook her head. "You know what I mean."

Far from upset by these horrific words, I leaned my head back against the seat and laughed with delighted abandon. My right hand found the metal buckle, and I drew it across me and clicked it obediently into place. I was happy, and I was in the mood to tease. "In Narnia, we cheat - just a little," I said. "I have a good friend of mine named Persica. She's a peach tree dryad in Bergdale. That's where the fauns live. Anyways my mother was good friends with Persica, and Persica did something very unexpected one day - she healed my mother of all her scars. My mother had been caught in a fire and crippled by... a very evil creature named Maeta." I was serious, but remarkably I wasn't too upset in recounting the tale. Who could be, with _that_ much chocolate in the backseat? "But Persica tried it and found out she could restore even scars, and she healed my mother completely. Much later, she did the same for me. I was in several battles when I lived in the southern Calormen deserts below Narnia, but the marks are all gone now - thanks to Persica."

I chuckled. "But you're right: I don't want to busy Persica just because I know where she lives." I patted my seatbelt and sat back contentedly.

Our playful banter continued on our short trip back to the mansion. Our discussion on New York was a memorable one.

"I know you haven't been in New York for very long so I wasn't sure if you were comfortable with venturing into the big city yet," she said to me. "Do you have large cities like ours in your world?"

"Er... our cities are quite a bit different," I explained, the excitement of the adventure beginning to tingle in my centaurian blood. "Beruna has big open pavilions, a few shops and an inn, and Sted Cair has several storefronts clustered around the statue of Aslan, which stands tall in the city square. By far the most impressive of our Narnian locations would be the bejeweled castle at Cair Paravel. The shining turrets can be seen glittering against the eastern sea from leagues away!" I sat back in my seat, enraptured with my own tales. "But no huge silver buildings, and so _many_ of them clustered altogether. New York is astonishing, Tessa."

"New York is an amazing place," Tessa agreed. "Where I grew up, it was fairly desolate. We had cities, but like you said, they paled in comparision to this one."

I was amazed. "Oh really? Not all this world's cities are gargantuan and sprawling like this one?"

Tessa shook her head. "Not at all. There are some places where you can go for miles without seeing a building more than two stories high. Some towns are so small everyone knows everyone."

I had to laugh. That sounded much more familiar and Narnian than this incredible metropolis.

Too soon we pulled up before the black iron gates of Xavier's, and Tessa parked us in the garage. We hauled all our loot inside and up the stairs (Tessa warned me of the follies of leaving anything like this in the common pantry, as it would all mysteriously and miraculously disappear) and into her room. There we finished making our plans, giggling like a couple of girls and sampling more chocolate than was good for either of us. It was all delicious - delicious enough that I didn't mind the resulting stomachache.

Life, at that moment, was very good. And I was pleased beyond words that Tessa was alright with me calling her "Mom". That... wasn't entirely a joke. I've adopted her, completely. She reminds me so much of my real mother that sometimes it makes me want to cry... and other times it warms me down to the core. It's great to be a foal again.

I was very much looking forward to collaborating with her in the future.


	32. Difficult Questions

Jean unnerves me to no end.

Honestly.

"Everything is perfect," she said, laughing lightly as we talked over lunch. She was engaged to Logan, so that response was predictable. She leaned back against the counter and sipped at her coffee. "But what about you, honey? So far so good?"

I pondered her words, suddenly a little sober. Then I set a hind hoof against a chair and sent it screeching backwards: I didn't need it. I preferred eating standing up when in my centaurian form. "I'm doing well," I replied. Then I chuckled and changed the subject. "By the way, feel free to help yourself to anything here." I swept a hand over the table - over boxes of Chinese takeout, mostly. "Someone - I don't know who - keeps ordering this marvelous chicken and I can't get enough of it." So saying, I opened the nearest box and eagerly stuck a fork in it, hoping she wouldn't press me further about my own status.

It's rather amusing, in a way, when one has selfish reasons for not dwelling on one's personal life in a conversation.

Jean laughed softly and declined, sipping at her coffee. Then she too easily brushed aside my diversionary tactics. "So what about you? Have you found anyone special yet? Or is it too soon to ask?"

I was just taking a drink of SOBE when Jean asked the question I least expected - and, quite by accident, I swallowed too much liquid. I sputtered and hastily lowered the bottle, choking frantically and patting my chest, and my cheeks flamed. I knew I'd turned an interesting shade of magenta.

Jean rushed forward. "Oh god, honey, are you alright? Just raise your hands..."

I did as she instructed, and she thumped me on the back until I could breathe again. I felt immensely better, but I rubbed at my throat with a slight moan. It hurt to swallow that much liquid at one time. I was just glad to breathe again.

If I thought I was off the hook, Jean's raised eyebrows and knowing look informed me otherwise.

I broke into embarrassed chuckles. "Well, I..." I glanced around as if concerned the walls had ears, but I was stalling for time to think. "Now tell me, Jean," I began conversationally, touching my sapphire choker and shrinking down and shifting abruptly into a human girl - who was much shorter than my normal centaurian stature of eight feet. "Just tell me..." I held out the wrinkled skirt of my cream-colored peasant dress meaningfully. "Who in their right mind would lose their head over a girl like me? I don't even _look_ like I belong here."

I cleared my throat and sat back, rattled. I didn't like shapeshifting in front of anyone, but drastic measures were in order around Jean. I'm not sure why, but she seems to sense things about people. It was as if I couldn't hide my secrets around her, and that was more unnerving than anything I'd encountered before. My secrets are secret for a reason; to say I guard those secrets fiercely is an understatement.

Jean pressed her lips together. She looked as if she were trying not to laugh. "But honey, that's no answer to my question. I'm talking about your feelings... your heart... and what's happening in that department. But if you don't want to tell me, that's alright." Her knowing smile was making me extremely uncomfortable. "I don't need to be a telepath to know there's some movement in there." She leaned against the counter again and took a rather smug sip of her coffee.

I didn't know what a telepath was back then, but her heightened intuition was obvious. I was also much shier in my human form, because of my upbringing (which taught me that every other race is inferior to a noble centaur) and because I'm much shorter in my human form: Only 5'7". Besides the sudden three-foot transformation, looking up to anyone makes me feel young and childish.

"There are a lot of special people in the world, Jean," I hedged in a soft tone, offering a little smile. "But it takes a very important ingredient that is rare to find to make a relationship work the way it has for you and Logan. You two are really very lucky."

Jean nodded, and a dreamy smile eclipsed her features. "Yes, I completely know what you mean. Everyone looks for that particular something... I'm lucky I found it!"

I outwardly agreed and inwardly congratulated myself. That's all I needed to do was shift the topic to one Jean found more interesting, and anything pertaining to her blossoming relationship with Logan fell under that category. But I couldn't meet her eyes anymore, in case she read either pain or triumph there - both of which I was feeling in extraordinary measure.

The conversation took off in several different directions - none which struck close to home, for which I was infinitely grateful. She let me know she was going out on a double-date with Logan, Scott and Morgana, and asked if I had any plans that night; I replied that I'd probably spend some time in the library, finishing _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, which Angel was kind enough to loan me. Or perhaps I'd catch up with Tessa and ask her more about 'computers', which are a complete mystery to me. "At least they're better than this television thing Logan likes so much," I finished, wrinkling my nose as I remembered a night, not too long ago, where I'd tried to have a conversation with a fellow in a television box and utterly failed.

"Angel? Oh so you know him!" Jean chuckled and sipped at her coffee. "Logan hates him. Don't ask me why, he just does."

That hurt something inside me. "Yes, I know Angel. He's the first one I met actually. Everyone either hates Angel or loves Angel, but regardless, everyone seems to have strong feelings where that mutant is concerned. I did not know he didn't get along with Logan, however. I'll remember that and be more wary in the future when getting between those two."

Jean had to get ready for her date that night, and she excused herself shortly after that. I finished my lunch in silence, then cleaned the kitchen and left - as a centaur. I had a lot on my mind and no preplanned destination, and so it was that I found myself outside the Danger Room.

The Danger Room sounded like a particularly good idea just then, so I went inside and started up a simulation - without real enemies. Even killing enemies who aren't real doesn't sit well with me, but it was nice to get away to a place of trees and grass and sky, with a stream singing somewhere nearby, to practice the art of wielding two swords at the same time.

It was relatively easy. It gets easier all the time. Life, though, is infinitely more complicated, and it took up most of my thought processes. One of my swords slipped and I sustained a nasty cut on my right leg, so I sheathed my weapons and sat down by the water to pack some mud over the wound. Then I sat there for hours, watching the stream roll away and thinking.


	33. A Chat in the Chapel

A few days later, I visited the chapel. I'd discovered it was an ideal place to pray, but I'd stayed away from it during the past few weeks while it was the haunt of an unpredictable Kurt Wagner.

Now there was no need to avoid it. The world felt like a different place - not just because Kurt had been restored to his normal self, but because some things inside of me had been healed of old wounds. The healing wasn't complete by any means, but there was a considerable improvement: I felt as if a leaden weight had been lifted from my chest. I was very grateful for it and I definitely wanted to speak with Aslan that afternoon.

I eagerly greeted the familiar peaceful hush of the sanctuary when I stepped inside. Calm enveloped my whole spirit as I made my way down the main aisle and stood before the main altar - so like in form and function to Narnia's Stone Table.

An altar was for sacrifices. This one was no different.

Suddenly I knew I wasn't alone. With a gasp I whipped my head around, searching the shadows, my hand instantly on my sword hilt. I sensed A Presence. I didn't feel danger, but I did feel someone there, and seeing nothing unnerved me.

"Who's there?" I asked a little nervously.

A voice - a _smiling_ voice - came from the shadows. "I am sorry, meine Freundin. I didn't mean to startle you. I saw you here, and did not want to disturb your reverie, but apparently it's too late now..."

Kurt Wagner himself emerged into the light, his blue form becoming visible as the darkness relinquished his indigo fur.

My hand left my sword hilt and I smiled softly. I felt so very peaceful, now. And I was glad he'd returned from his mission.

"Oh, Kurt, guten abend. That's quite alright. I just came here to pray." I turned my attention again to the front, my eyes on the Stone Table-like altar - only this altar was unbroken. "There's... so much to consider, after what we talked about. I feel... sort of... disoriented." I cocked my head slightly, glancing back at him. "I really appreciate you talking to me like that, and returning my... my swords..." I smiled slightly out of embarrassment. I still felt it shouldn't have been as big a deal to me as it was, but it was. "I'm terribly sorry to have broken down like that though. It... doesn't happen very often."

Kurt's smile deepened. It was a smile that should have been unnerving: It could be construed, from outward appearances, as a malicious grin, what with all those sharp white teeth; but coming from Kurt Wagner, it was heartwarming instead. Kurt strode forward and hopped up on the back of a pew, gripping it with his long toes and settling into a crouch with his tail dangling over the back and his arms resting across his thighs. This was the classic Kurt Wagner pose, and it drew a smile from me.

"Fraulein... I was glad to be there, if for nothing else than to lend an ear." He put a finger on the pointed tip of one ear to humorously emphasize his words.

I burst into uninhibited laughter. "Two ears," I declared, in between giggles, and a shoulder..." Leaning over, I patted the nearest of Kurt's shoulders.

Kurt grinned. "I am glad you were able to share your thoughts with me. And such powerful emotions should not be contained forever inside you. It is too much of a burden for anyone to bear. But I am glad to find you here... this is the perfect place to come and refresh your spirit."

Chuckles subsided to a warm smile. "Those were rather powerful emotions, weren't they? I locked them away for eleven years, Kurt. Maybe that's why I cried so hard." I flushed again with some shame at the reminder - I still hate to cry in front of anyone. My gaze drifted again to the altar. "That's the trouble with people who don't cry. When we finally do cry, we make up for lost time."

He didn't laugh at me. "Ja... emotions kept bottled inside do tend to be rather intense when they finally surface. But you should not be ashamed of crying... no one with any true heart inside them would have done differently."

I let out a deep sigh and sank into the front pew, smiling softly. "Thank you, Kurt," I said quietly to the blue mutant perched there. "That's very kind." I didn't say anything more for a little while, but gazed straight ahead at the altar and absorbed the presence of Aslan I felt so strongly in this place. Thoughts were slow in coming and I found emotions were more poignant, so I channeled my understanding accordingly and stopped trying so hard to process how I felt about my parents. I missed them terribly, but today there was less hurt when I thought of them.

Then I let out a soft chuckle. "I imagine you were dying to tell me things before I interrupted," I remarked to Kurt. "Tessa told me. She seems... so happy."

Kurt laughed softly. "Fraulein... it was more important that we dealt with your problems."

I felt warm all over. I sat back and hugged my own arms close, feeling safe for a reason I couldn't define. "Oh gracious, Kurt, I've held on to those tears for eleven years. A few more days could hardly make a difference... but it is nice to have let them go."

I heard his tail wagging back and forth slowly, thumping occasionally against the pew or the floor. That meant he was happy. Having a tail myself, I could interpret these things. "But... I am glad to hear that she is so happy, for I am quite happy myself... very much so..."

Turning my head, I beamed up at him. "No wonder you seem happy. I thought, shortsightedly, that it was simply being released from your predicament that did it, or... or..." I was beginning to laugh. "Or gummy worms."

Kurt leapt off the back of the pew and moved to crouch near me, his tail wagging quickly back and forth. "Well, gummies do make one happy... and not being under mind-control is certainly a plus!"

We laughed, and I went on. "I'm teasing. I thought you were glad to speak with Tessa again, but I underestimated _how_ glad. You two are lucky, Kurt... so lucky. I can't be happy enough for you."

He looked down, thinking. "I suppose that going through all those things made us realize that we needed to look at our relationship in a different light, so I'm thankful for that."

A large three-fingered hand slipped into his pocket, and there came a plastic rustling. I glanced at him quizzically, then narrowed my eyes. He was up to something.

"But... speaking of..." Kurt pulled out a fresh bag of gummy worms and held them up.

Gummy worms! I gasped. "What, for me?!"

Kurt grinned in a very friendly way as he held out the bag of gummy worms to me. "Ja, just for you, meine Freundin. And this time, there are assorted flavors... plenty to choose from!"

I took the gift, glowing, and suddenly hugged the giver. "Kurt, thank you so much," I said gratefully. "You're a Lionsend. And gummy worms, well..." I chuckled a little. "I never dreamed eating worms could be such an enjoyable experience. Then again," I added thoughtfully, "I never dreamed that crying so hard could do wonders for a wounded soul either."

Kurt had a large smile on his face. "Ja... this is true. Sometimes, when we least expect it, little things have a way of working wonders." But his thoughts were elsewhere. He eyed the bag. "Now, would you care to share some worms with a friend? I've had a long trip back, and I am feeling the need for a bit of sugar in my system."

"Gracious, yes!" I tore open the bag with alacrity and offered it to him. "Have as many as you like." A blue hand accepted the offer and dug out a variety of brightly-colored worms. I smiled warmly at him over the bag of treats. "And I gave her your present and I wish you could have seen her face. She was completely delighted."

"Danke for delivering my gift to her," he said, still sorting through gummies. "It meant a lot to me."

"Oh Kurt, believe me, the honor was all mine. Thank you for choosing me to deliver the gift! And if you need me to take her more in the future, do just ask me. Anytime." I smiled. "It's very very good to see you again, Kurt. In the meantime, I've been having an absolute blast with Tessa. She took me for a ride in a _car_!" My gray eyes were glittering with unmitigated excitement at the fresh memory - and the _reasons_ we had taken that trip in the first place.

Kurt's tail thumped against the back of the pew at the mention of Tessa's name, and he downed two worms before responding. "She did? In her car? Well, that does sound like fun! How did you like it, Fraulein?"

"I loved it!" I plunged my hand into the bag and retrieved a blue gummy worm. It tasted... like artificial something-or-other, but it was awesome, as all gummy worms are. "It was fantastic. Tessa's such a great driver - she likes to go _fast_."

Kurt laughed through a gummy worm and nodded. "Ja, that she does! It makes me thankful I'm a teleporter sometimes!" He winked, and I giggled.

"It was one of the most magnificent things I've ever experienced," I said somewhat dreamily, "and only flying with Angel can compare. You do have so many ways to chase the wind here in New York..." I found a red worm and held the bag out to Kurt again. "It's so wonderful I don't know how you can stand it."

Kurt swallowed a mouthful of gummy worms and winked. "Ja... I knew you would get my meaning." He thought silently for a moment, then laughed. "And as far as Warren is concerned, I am afraid I will never quite grow accustomed to being a passenger of his. Though, the other day, he accused me of needing to lose a little weight." He gave me a wounded look, his yellow eyes heartbreakingly pathetic. "Can you belie-"

Kurt stopped and looked down at the gummy worm in his hand and blushed slightly, clearing his throat. "I assured him it was all fur and muscle."

I whirled sideways and stared at him in shock. "Angel didn't say that!" I cried, aghast at Angel's audacity. Then I grinned and shook my head. "Completely ridiculous. I fought you and I know good and well how fit you really are. Maybe you should challenge him to a spar. Really, _he's_ the one who needs to put on a little weight so he can see the rest of the world with a clear head."

That gave me an idea - it was absolutely pure genius! I paused in the motion of conveying a green gummy worm to my mouth. "That's it, Kurt," I said, turning to him with a slow, mischievous smile. "That's it! That's what we'll do to him. For a prank, we should leave him a load of candy with diet instructions on it, to help... beef him up a little."

I broke off with a blush and a giggle, imagining what Angel's response would be to something like that. But Kurt had told me, long ago, that we could prank anyone I deemed "worthy", and I decided now was a great time to cash in. Pranks help people feel loved anyway, as long as the pranks aren't cruel. And Kurt's never were.

Kurt laughed loudly, popping another gummy worm. "Ja, Fraulein... that would be a priceless prank! He tried to convince me to prank Pietro a while back, but we never quite got around to it. Perhaps Warren's time has come..."

I gave myself up to gales of helpless laughter. "Yes it has!" I half-squealed, sitting back against the pew wearily with a light-hearted expression. Turning shining eyes to Kurt, I added, "Do me a huge favor, Kurt: Give me some co-credit for that prank. Could you?"

"Co-credit?" Kurt cocked an eyebrow like one of those movie super-spies. "Meine Freundin... you are going to be my partner in crime!"

Those words were music to my ears! "I'm deeply honored!" I giggled and patted his shoulder. "Oh, delightful fun, that will be. And we have to make it clear that we were _both_ in on it: You need to get a bit of your own back after such a... a..." I searched for just the right adjective. "A completely backwards remark." Grinning, I sat up straighter and looked over at Kurt. "Actually I need your help with something else. Do you think you could provide me with two bottles of _pink dye_?"

Kurt suddenly stopped eating and sat up in a crouch, his tail twitching. "Well, you have come to the right demon for pink dye... but I must know what's going through that head of yours... my dye must go to good use, you know..."

I could barely stifle my giggles long enough to lean over and whisper: "_His wings._"

Kurt put a hand over his mouth, laughing in shock. "Mein Gott, Fraulein! You do think big!"

Abruptly I realized what he was thinking, and I blushed. "Well I don't know that I think quite big enough to satisfy me. I couldn't actually _dye_ his feathers. Even if I could, I don't know that he'd... _ever_... forgive me for something like that. He's very proud of his wings, and particular about them." Grinning, I explained my plan. "I wanted to label the bottles 'left wing' and 'right wing' and give them to him, just like that."

Kurt chuckled and sat back. "Well, I must admit, I was about to be very impressed at your courage." (My turn to be disappointed - for only a moment; I was preserving Angel's pride and that was somehow more important.) "You are right, he is more proud of those wings of his than a peacock is of his own spread!" I chuckled, tingling with delight at the prospect of causing the winged mutant a _lot_ of trouble in the very near future, and Kurt nodded. "Of course, Fraulein... you may come by my room anytime to pick them up."

"Thank you so much, Kurt. I'll drop by tomorrow."

We lapsed into companionable silence, each busy with our own thoughts. If my guess wasn't too off-base, we were both thinking of different ways to prank the mansion's most popular winged mutant - and possibly some of its other inhabitants, though my thoughts were decidedly riveted on the third Worthington. My heart ached a little.

Setting the bag of gummy worms between us so Kurt could help himself whenever the mood took him, I myself chewed thoughtfully at a yellow one. "You know... I think Angel needs to be pranked more often." I shrugged as casually as possible. "He just seems like he needs that."

Kurt nodded slowly - and somewhat distantly, as if his mind were elsewhere. "Ja, I believe he does, Fraulein... and you and I might just be the ones to usher in that new era."

I sat straight up. Those were magic words. "Ooh... a new era!" I exclaimed. "At last, the Council will be proud of me..." I finished off the statement with giggles, extracted a red gummy worm, subjected it to intense scrutiny, and murmured, "Strawberry, or cherry?" before I ate it.

The blue mutant gave a light chuckle. "Ja... we shall make your name legend before we are through."

"Legend, you say?" I could barely restrain my excitement. Briefly I imagined what it would be like to be remembered as a prankster around Xavier. Finally I spoke - and I was serious. "If that is truly the case, then I would seek no other accolades. I would be happy with that for a legacy." I gave a firm nod, still smiling. "Who am I to refuse destiny?!"

_Destiny_. I cut my laughter short and confided that Jean wanted to give me a test to discover whether or not I was a mutant - a prospect which still sent my twin stomachs into wild spirals. "I'm kind of nervous," I admitted. "She never said what _sort_ of test she was going to give me."

"Jean is going to give you a test?" He pondered that. "Well, I cannot say that I am too much help in that department, as no test really had to be performed on me to determine whether I was a mutant or not. But this does sound interesting... I shall want to hear the results."

His words sent a chill through me. If Kurt had gone through it ahead of me, I wouldn't have felt so tentative... but he hadn't. As trials varied so greatly, I wondered what a person was put through to determine their mutant status: Mental exercises, perhaps, along with trials of strength and endurance, and probably a combination of other things designed to discover not only the fitness of the individual, but which faculties a possible mutant could be counted as extraordinary in. I could ace anything involving hand-to-hand combat (supposing I could use my hooves) and swordsmanship, but what else would I be faced with? I shivered at the thought. What if I didn't make it? I doubted they'd let a non-mutant stay at a school exclusively for mutants...

As if sensing my severe apprehension, Kurt interrupted all this by extending a hand to me, and the other hand latched onto the gummy worms and tucked them in his pocket. "Come, Fraulein... I need some fresh air. I have been in the chapel far too long. Perhaps it is time to observe some of God's creation firsthand."

I took his hand, right gladly. "I should love to go outside. It's been too long since I conversed with the birds." The mention of birds set me chuckling. "Unless you count Angel... but don't tell him I said that." I glanced sideways at Kurt. "He's awfully touchy on that subject."

Kurt made a motion of zipping his lips closed. "Believe me, I will not say a word to old Feathers about your comment! Now, let us see about going outside. I think the gardens are relatively unoccupied at this time of day. Most of the students are in class."

I giggled. "Thank you. I would hate to get on his bad side." It took a moment for the significance of Kurt's outstretched hand to dawn on me, and when it did, I chuckled and gave him my hand without hesitation. "As long as you promise me those gummy worms will survive the trip," I teased. "The gardens sound wonderful, and I haven't noticed a lot of activity out there this time of day either."

Kurt patted his pocket. "Ja... the candy will survive, that I promise."

And I believed him. His hand closed over mine, and with a loud _BAMF_ and a cloud of bluish smoke, we vanished.


	34. 101 Ways to Eat Gummy Worms

_BAMF_. Kurt and I made a dramatic entrance into the courtyard, and at once the familiar nausea from teleporting sent my head into a tailspin. Somewhat dizzy, I sank down into the grass, laughing.

"I'm fine, I'm great," I said in an unnaturally high voice. "Just a minute..."

Kurt smiled and sat down beside me. "You did fine, Fraulein... you are getting much better..."

I chuckled a little, lifting my head again as the courtyard spun to a slow stop. "Actually... I'm better when I'm in my centaur form. I think it has something to do with the fact that centaurs have _two_ hearts, not one, and dizzy spells never linger long except under extreme circumstances. But now, it passes."

I turned my face fully to the delicious warmth of the sun. Kurt, too, seemed to be taking in the autumn sunshine and enjoying it after the shadows of the indoors.

"I love this time of year, Kurt," I confided. "The wind changes, and you can _smell_ the shift in the seasons. You can't get enough air, just for the simple joy of _breathing_."

Kurt leaned back in the grass, letting his legs and tail extend out in front of him and supporting himself on his forearms. He took a deep breath of that marvelous air I spoke of. "I agree, Fraulein... we are arriving at my favorite season of them all. I do enjoy autumn... quite a lot. It always reminds me of Bavaria... when the leaves begin to change colors, and the weather cools off."

"Really?" I sat with my legs tucked, as was my habit from being a centaur. As the refreshing weather worked its magic on me, I relaxed enough to roll my legs to one side and prop myself up by one hand, sinking my palm deep in the thick green turf. "I haven't been to Bavaria. I don't know where it is, even." I chuckled sheepishly. "But it sounds beautiful."

Kurt gazed at the sky and spoke somewhat wistfully. "Ja... Bavaria... where I grew up. It is a beautiful countryside as well. I used to walk the forests alone for hours at a time."

"What did you do while you were walking the forests alone?" I asked, suddenly curious. "Think? Pray? Brood? Or did it depend on the day?"

Kurt glanced sideways at me. "Ah... well, ja... I suppose it depended on the mood. I often went to the forests to escape the circus. As much as I loved performing, when the lights went down, I was basically just a freak again, and reality set in. It felt good to get away. I would often pray, or practice my teleporting when I was younger."

I offered a smile, nodding. "I too escaped reality via the magic of the woods, but no matter how many times I ventured into the trees or how deeply I wandered, reality always caught up with me. But it was good... to get away... for a little while, at least."

Kurt nodded. "Ja, reality always seems to find us, but it is good to run away from it, even for just a little while."

I had to chuckle. It's funny, how much we can depend on pointless exercises in life - but perhaps they aren't really pointless at all, and I haven't looked at them deeply enough to figure out what those seemingly pointless exercises do for a person. I would have to consider that later...

Then my curiosity was piqued. "You had to practice teleporting?"

The blue mutant smiled sheepishly. "Ja... I had to practice... quite a bit, actually. Quite embarrassing, really..."

I giggled. "You think teleporting is hard, my friend, then try mastering the use of four legs and see how you feel after that."

Kurt chuckled at me. "If only someone had caught that moment on tape, Fraulein... I'm sure it was quite a sight to behold. Much better than me ending up in random spots and getting sick all over the place!"

I was laughing. The courtyard was mostly deserted on this sunny afternoon, which was great. It meant that I was free to talk and laugh - though I was fast realizing that I was under no pressure at all here, which was a remarkable change from the expectations the Council placed on me. "Oh that sounds terrible, Kurt!" Despite how awful it was, I was smiling. "You really had to fight to improve at teleportation, didn't you, getting sick like that and everything? Why don't you get sick now?"

Kurt grimaced and scratched his head. "Ja... it wasn't a pretty sight at first. When I would push myself too far, it made me sick... until I built up my strength. The same happened the first time I teleported someone else as well... my brother. It knocked us both unconscious!"

I was horrified. "Oh no, unconscious?!" I cried, incredulous. Then I sat back and digested this. "Well... I suppose it's like any athletic training. You have to run, and run, and run, and inevitably those with spirit push themselves too hard and collapse. I've done that on several occasions. But I didn't realize teleporting was stamina-dependent..." I chuckled in mild embarrassment and pulled up a few sprigs of grass to munch out of habit. "Silly me. I hope your brother forgave you for that little incident though. I know how brothers can be."

Kurt nodded, rising to his customary crouch and pulling his tail around his legs. When he chuckled, I realized his amusement was directed at my casual grazing, and I flushed a little. But he went on. "Ja... it does wear on me after a while. The farther I teleport, the worse it is. And he did forgive me... thankfully, he did not shun me or run away. He was always the most understanding of my family." A pained expression crossed his features, though he made a quick effort to shake it away.

But he was too late. I winced. The grass seemed to take on a sour flavor.

"Ah, no, not you too. It seems to be too common a theme around here... and that's why people desperately need to be pranked in this mansion," I added with conviction, looking over my shoulder at the institute behind us. "Just to show that someone cares enough to prank them - in a kind way, of course. It's a family sort of gesture, and that's what we're becoming: Our own family."

Kurt was watching me eat again with interest in his yellow eyes. "Ja... we are our own family here... and we stick together, no matter what... even when we want to strangle each other from time to time."

Caught completely off-guard, I burst out laughing. "All families do at some point or another, but you have a distinct advantage: You could strangle people with your tail."

Kurt laughed. The subject of our discussion flopped in the grass. "Ja, I suppose I could strangle a couple of people at the same time!"

Squealing with laughter, I rocked backwards and put a hand over my stomach. "A couple people at the same time! I'm shocked Angel hasn't asked you to strangle Jay yet. The stress of having a roommate is making his feathers fall out at an alarming rate, and I have no idea why he'd want to compound the problem by letting ME stay there too."

Kurt chuckled.

Since he was still watching me nibbling at grass and edible flowers - like dandelions - in a manner I could only call wistful, as if he too wished he could try some, I changed the subject. "The dandelion leaves might taste better to you," I said matter-of-factly. "They taste much like baby spinach leaves, except they don't leave you with an aftertaste. Some humans say they taste better than lettuce. I just... love vegetation. Of all kinds."

So saying, I picked the tiny heads off a patch of moss, gathered them in my palm, made a fist, and tipped it into my mouth. I grinned. "Moss is pretty tasty too."

The blue mutant needed no further encouragement. To my great delight, he reached over and picked up some leaves, then munched at them gingerly. To his credit, he didn't make a face. But anyone could tell that he wasn't used to them.

He swallowed carefully. "Ah... well, I think I shall stick to steak and potatoes."

Grinning, I patted his hand. "Well it was awfully brave of you to try. I've told other humans who weren't from Narnia that they really ought to give dandelion leaves half a chance, and they turned green and regarded me as some sort of... I don't know. Horsebrain maybe. It didn't sit very well with them."

Kurt picked a piece of leaf out from between his sharp teeth and ran his tongue across them. His teeth squeaked. I laughed. He grinned.

"Well, I could get used to them, I suppose... if I had to! But give me a gummy worm anytime." He chuckled. "Oh! Speaking of..." He pulled the bag out of his pocket and tossed it at me. "Safe and sound, just like I promised!"

I caught the bag, but lost my balance in the process and fell slightly backwards, throwing out a hand and catching myself swiftly before I made it all the way to the grass. "Thank you! Yes, gummy worms are really the _piece de resistance_, as they say in France..." I unrolled the top of the bag and set it in the grass between us. "Help yourself."

We ate a few gummy worms in thoughtful, companionable silence, which I broke after awhile to explain a few things about centaurian life I thought he might find interesting. "Mastering locomotion on four legs happens within minutes of a centaur's birth, and a foal can gallop within hours. It's the finer points that take so much time to master: Primarily dance, swordfighting and battle maneuvers. Hooves _tangle_."

Kurt smiled in between gummy worms. "I can imagine that it must take a good deal of training for a centaur to function on the battlefield."

I nodded very seriously, remembering the years I'd already devoted to honing my skills - and how much practice I still needed. "A great deal of training, yes. We're fearsome fighters, but it's not as if elite warriors are born with swords in their hands and thunder in their hooves. That comes through decades of hard work, and blood, and sweat, and sometimes tears. And scars." I smiled. "We're lucky in Narnia though. We have very kind dryads who like to help people. There's one by the name of Persica who guards a peach grove near Bergdale, where the fauns dwell, and she used to know my parents. She's been a sort of... 'fairy godmother' to me, I suppose you could say. Anyways when I returned from the desert lands, battle-weary and battle-scarred, she restored my appearance. She'd done the same for my mother once when she was in even worse condition, some time before my mother fell in love with my father."

"I never thought much about what it would take for a centaur like you to go into battle," Kurt remarked thoughtfully. "But please, continue your stories... I am quite interested in this life of yours in this strange place."

Chuckling, I narrowed my eyes at him - for just a moment. I thought about teasing him and asking if he was just trying to keep me talking so he could eat all the gummy worms, just for the fun of it; but he was watching me with such genuine interest that I simply went on.

"Well... life as a centaur IS interesting, if you aren't a centaur yourself. I find you folks all particularly entertaining," I said with a grin. "You're very different from the French nobles I met on a brief excursion there. I looked humanoid, of course. Aslan gave me the sapphire choker right before I departed so that I would be able to fit in with everyone. My mission was to remove King Louis from the throne, because he was terribly cruel, and set his brother Philippe in his stead. Philippe proved he could run the country without any trouble, but Louis tried to have Philippe killed because Philippe was the younger twin. Louis imprisoned Philippe in the Bastille and made him wear an iron mask. For years, poor Philippe cried out to the deaf stones, wondering what he had done wrong... why he was being punished... and there was no answer. His only comfort was, sometimes, the moonlight."

I smiled softly before Kurt could express his sentiments on Philippe's behalf. "But no more. After Louis was forcibly removed, Aslan let him spend six months in the Bastille, wearing the same mask - an atonement for his brother's six _years_. Then Louis came to Narnia and is a changed boy, even now. I'm quite pleased."

And that was the tale of Louis and Philippe up to that date.

I cocked my head to one side, studying the sky thoughtfully. Mentioning Narnia shifted my train of thought to a completely new track. "Fall reminds me of my father, Kurt. He was brown and gold all over. He had a golden chestnut coat, like mine, and his hair was nut-brown, and sometimes, in the autumn, he would simply melt into the surrounding forest and then suddenly look out from the trees and smile at me." I smiled softly at the memory.

"I can see why it would remind you of him, then," remarked Kurt. "It is good that you can look out and see so much of your father in the change of the season. It must bring you comfort."

I nodded contentedly. "It's as if he's here, smiling down at me in every colored tree. He used to put leaves in his shaggy hair and beard and pretend to be a wild centaur, and he'd chase me through the forest until I was shrieking and giddy. Now that I'm alone, I still run and imagine he's right behind me, making claws with his fingers and trying to scare the living daylights out of me."

Kurt smiled at me, and we lapsed into another gummy-worm-munching silence. Kurt _had_ gained on me during my long-winded tales, and I had some catching up to do.

Apparently I wasn't the only one. As I reached for a new gummy worm, I shooed off a stray ant. "Another combat tactic centaurs have to learn is ant removal," I explained, laughing. "Being a good cook is one thing. Keeping your culinary concoctions free of unsavory creatures is another. Ohhh, but here." Smitten by sympathy, I pinched off a tiny bit of another gummy worm and set it in the offended insect's path. The ant promptly grabbed it and hauled it off with glee. I giggled. "There. Now he's all happy."

Kurt rolled onto his stomach in the grass, propping himself up with his elbows and getting a closer look at the ant hurrying off with his dinner. "Very kind of you, Fraulein. I do not believe I have ever actually seen someone feed the ants on purpose!"

Neither had I, really. I chuckled. "Well, it's a habit of mine. Ants are really very cute, if not all pesky, and they toil so hard and march around like little soldiers. I like to help them out once in a while. Angel had amusing comments when I gave them some orange peel." I munched another gummy worm down before I said anything else. "I guess I sympathize. I was hungry a lot when I was living in the desert. Centaurs are always, always hungry, and deserts don't exactly cater to a normal appetite, let alone one like mine. Ants must be hungry all the time, too. Look at them: They spend their entire lives in constant search of food. Poor little things."

Kurt rolled onto his back and gazed up at the sky, which had grown considerably darker - in shades of navy and gold - since we arrived. Afternoon was turning to a beautiful evening, and the last shafts of burnt orange sunshine were receding as the sun itself drew behind the hills.

"Ah," breathed Kurt. "Now this is a beautiful sight, is it not?"

I sighed at his words and leaned back slightly to view the sky, tinged with the colors of twilight. Peace settled over me as gently as a cloak, and I caught a scent on the wind that reminded me, in a deja vu manner, of bygone days when I was a foal sitting safely, snugly between my parents and watching the sunset with them. My gray eyes glazed over, blurring the remaining colors, and my eyelids drooped a little with pure contentment, and a faint smile brushed over my features.

"Um-hm," I murmured softly, falling into thoughtful silence.

When the last of my normal daily tension had ebbed away and I felt that, if I stopped concentrating, I would cease to even breathe, I glanced over at my companion and noticed his thoughtful state. He, too, seemed lost in memory, and he was playing absently with his tail - which was rather amusing. A warm smile softened my expression, and reaching over I gently rubbed his shoulder.

"Life is good, isn't it?"

Kurt's yellow eyes blinked twice as he emerged from his reverie, and he glanced at me. He smiled and nodded in return, running a hand through his short dark hair and pausing to rub the tip of one ear. "Ja, it is certainly good. Despite any difficulties we go through, we are still blessed."

Poor Kurt must have been referring to the crisis he'd recently escaped - and no wonder. The memory of it was slow to fade. Yet who would have thought that, tonight, we would be sitting in the courtyard, discussing Bavaria and Narnia and eating gummy worms and laughing about everything and nothing? I certainly hadn't had that kind of faith. I imagined there'd be a long recovery process, if we were able to pull him back - but I did think we'd eventually get him back, because I refused to believe anything otherwise.

I nodded in return, my smile somewhat wistful. There were other memories from the distant past mingling with the recent past and the present. "Good times come and go," I said quietly. "But so do the bad times. It's nice to have the memories that linger. Memories are a blessing too." I flushed a little. "I know it's somewhat... foalish... of me to miss my parents like this now that I'm grown, but I loved them, Kurt. So very much. I know that... part of the reason I miss them like I do is because I lost them prematurely, but there is a lot more to it than that."

Maybe it was the sugar - it was hard to tell - but Kurt sure wiggled around a lot, much like a three-month-old centaur foal with too much energy. He rolled himself into a sitting crouch, resting his chin in his hands. "Ja, to lose your parents while you are young is a double burden. But, what else is on your mind, Fraulein? You said that is only part of the reason?"

Energetic and wiggly or not, Kurt was awfully perceptive. I lowered my head and nodded, then looked up just as quickly. "It wasn't that I lost them when I was too young to lose them. I was 32. It was just that... when I lost them, I lost everything: My family, my herd, my home. It was all gone. I had nowhere else to go. Do you know that when my mother and father died, I was the only one who grieved for them?"

Shifting my legs around, I pulled my knees close to my chest and rested my chin on them. I felt sad, but able to deal with it, and I think Kurt's presence helped considerably. His yellow eyes were fixed on me, filled with compassion and sympathy, and I didn't feel uncomfortable unpacking my past with him in the least. I felt, instinctively, that he would understand.

For the first time, I realized something else: The fact that _I_ was the last one who cared about my family's legacy while they had been forgotten in the rest of Narnia bothered me. Talking about it revealed things I wasn't aware of. Kurt was still listening patiently, so I went on.

"I buried my mother by myself. I'm the only one who knows where her grave is. And then I was a wanderer, a nomad. At first I tried to convince myself that I enjoyed my existence as a lone warrior, and I almost succeeded in believing that... until I came here." I waved a hand at the mansion. "Here, it's family all over again and there are some very strange feelings stirring in me. I don't know quite how to deal with them."

A tail wrapped around my shoulders. I started in momentary shock until I realized Kurt was giving me a hug in a... rather unique fashion, and I chuckled softly. It was funny - tonight, I felt able to deal with the emotional aftermath of things I hadn't dared face before, and I was still smiling. I wasn't really sure why.

"I am so sorry to hear of such tragic circumstances," Kurt said to me. "But trust in the fact that God had his reasons for bringing you to this place, and perhaps you will be able to glean comfort from this knowledge. Your presence here has certainly been a Godsend to many of us."

Startled and delighted, I suddenly looked at Kurt and smiled. "Really?" Kurt smiled and squeezed my shoulder firmly with the spade of his tail, and I sighed contentedly. "That's wonderful, Kurt, because every one of you that I've met so far has been a tremendous blessing to me. Aslan definitely knew what he was doing when he sent me here."

Still smiling, I rifled my fingers among the gummy worms until I found a red one, then pushed the package towards Kurt. "For one thing, I'd have never known the joys of eating gummy worms," I said mirthfully, munching on the gummy with every sign of enjoyment. "Or SOBE, or Chinese food, or any number of other wonderful things." I grew more serious again. "I know I've only been here a short time, but already I consider you as my family and my herd." I grinned at Kurt. "You're part of a herd now." I laughed.

So did he. Then I went on. "I feel... very warm. Very happy. Safe, actually. Logan and Jean are my good friends, Angel has been... gosh." I shook my head, overwhelmed by the rush of grateful emotion - and regret, overridden by undying hope - which the thought of him sent crashing through me. "He's been absolutely everything to me. I wish I could talk to Jay more, but he's a little aloof. I'll get to him eventually though. I think that, if I show an interest in his music, he might open up to me. It's worth a try anyway. And then there's you and Tessa." I hesitated, glancing up at Kurt. "If... if I'm permitted to say so, you've been like a brother to me. I've never had a brother before, and it's just... neat. You and Tessa together remind me... so strongly... of my parents," I finished slowly.

He grinned, obviously pleased. "I am honored to be considered as a brother to you, and... Tessa and I are both flattered, so long as you remember that we are far too young to be parents of any centaur your age!"

I burst into laughter, rocking backwards. I patted the spade of his tail on my shoulder affectionately. "Only remember that I'm too _old_ to be your daughter and you really do have a deal," I declared, still giggling.

Kurt chuckled and nodded. "It is a deal, then, Fraulein."

With a smirk, he grabbed a gummy worm and stretched it out, studying it. "And I am glad that you have found people here that you can depend on, and that you feel at home here. In truth, I cannot imagine you NOT being here."

Those words were, to me... priceless. Another surge of warmth coursed through me. My dearest hope was that I could be as much of an asset to the inhabitants of Xavier's as they had been to me. Maybe I was succeeding. "Thank you for everything, Kurt," I murmured. "I can't imagine not being here either."

For a moment I zoned out to contemplate these things and silently lift some praise to Aslan. Life was going better than I'd dared dream it would.

Then I noticed Kurt still studying his gummy worm. I was puzzled... and amused. "You must have seen thousands of those in your lifetime, Kurt, no matter how young you are," I teased in my turn. "What is so special about this one? Are you trying to determine the exact color shade of this one and rate it on some kind of scale?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow and winked a yellow eye at me, which brought another giggle out of me. "Nein," he answered in a tone I recognized as negative. "That would be Tessa's reaction to the worm. I was just thinking how gummy a gummy worm really is. And if you pull it really far apart, you can do this..."

He put the worm longways in his mouth like a horse's bit and chomped down, the twin sides of the worm spilling out the corners of his mouth and dangling to his chin. He shook his head rapidly and the ends flapped around wildly.

I squealed with delight and lost myself in giggles. I had to try it! I dove for the bag and fetched my own gummy worm, pulled it out to full length, clamped it between my teeth and shook my head like a mad dog with a chew toy, my floppy tusks swinging crazily.

I was about incapacitated with laughter.

Kurt was laughing between clenched teeth and, I saw through slightly blurry vision, he tilted his head back and used to tongue to pull the worm into his mouth. He ate it quickly, still laughing.

"Ah... sehr gut... but..." He ran his tongue along his gleaming white teeth and swallowed again. "Sharp teeth may do good for threatening an enemy... but they are such a pain when eating candy..." He gulped down part of his sentence. "...Eternally getting stuck in them!"

I gave my head another rapid shake, the limp ends of the worm banging against my cheeks until I couldn't stand it anymore. My laughter was reaching cataclysmic proportions. With considerably less practiced grace than Kurt, I reached up and stuffed the protruding bits of gummy worm into my mouth, then dropped onto my back in the grass and laughed with hearty abandon until I was weak and tears were pooling under my eyes.

"I've never... had this much fun... with food!" I cried, when I could squeeze out words between laughs. "What would Mom say?!" I gave herself up to more mad giggling until I reached my conclusion of that train of thought. "Mommy and Daddy would've joined in," I decided, "but the Council would have found another reason to frown at us!"

Without bothering to move - I couldn't have gotten up if I'd wanted to now - I cocked an eyebrow at Kurt's sharp teeth. "I feared very much for the survival of your lower lip when you were upset with the whole Church of Humanity thing." My smile remained undimmed; the past didn't matter on occasions like these. "But I should have feared instead for the gummy worms. And look on the bright side: With candy stuck in your teeth, you can basically eat candy all day long!"

Kurt played with another gummy worm, smooshing it between his large fingers. He ran a claw along his lower lip. "Ah, ja... bad habit of mine when stressed I suppose. I used to contantly bite my lips when I was younger, especially when I would try to eat. I can remember my foster mother making me chew on cold rags. It took a bit of getting used to, I suppose," he went on, tapping a tooth with his claw - which he then followed up by eating a gummy worm, and he spoke around it. "But you are correct, I do enjoy my meals all day long sometimes."

Kurt was getting fidgety again. He scooted backwards and rested his spine against a treetrunk.

I rolled onto my stomach, crossing my ankles. "Why did she make you chew on cold rags?" I wondered curiously, pulling out another gummy worm and following Kurt's example of smooshing it. It felt weird. It made me grin. Then I ate it. "Methinks you enjoy _candy_ all day long," I said with a sly twinkle in my eyes. "You must have a very fast metabolism. Like you said, fur and muscle."

Kurt watched me squishing the gummy worm as if evaluating my technique. "Ah... well, she did it to keep me from tearing my lips to pieces, and to ease the cuts I already had caused," he answered, pulling his knees to his chest. He wrapped his gummy worm around his finger and held it up in front of him, grinning. "I do not eat candy ALL day, Fraulein... but more that I probably should. I never had sweets like this before I came to this country, and I suppose I got myself hooked. But, ja... I was born with an unusually high metabolism, so I must eat quite frequently."

I grinned back at him and at his latest gummy worm trick. I decided to invent one of my own. Taking three gummy worms of red, blue and green, I clamped the ends between my teeth, crossed my eyes to look at them past my nose, and braided them while I rested on my stomach with my elbows buried in the grass. This rendered me incapable of speech for a time until I finished the candy braid. Then I let go of the ends.

_SNAP!_ I blinked, startled, when the elastic gummy worms sprung into my face like rubber bands. I giggled and stuffed all three into my mouth at once to give them the munching they so richly deserved.

"Ah," I said after a gulp of sugar juice. "That was nice of her. And I also have a high metabolism, being a centaur, so I can sympathize. It seems I am on a similar road to being hooked on it." I giggled. "Do I look like I mind?" I reached for yet another gummy worm.

Kurt grinned and reached for one of the last remaining gummy worms. "Then you and I certainly share that in common, liebling. It is a good thing we have the bodies we do... or we would be one fat centaur and demon... ja?"

I didn't even answer. I rolled onto my back and laughed and laughed until I couldn't breathe, tears rolling liberally down my face as I imagined an enormously fat centaur and a very roly-poly Kurt Wagner.

This laughter was contagious. Kurt caught it too. His loud mirth echoed over the sunset courtyard and he held his stomach as waves of silliness washed over him. The more I tried to stop laughing, the more it backfired - and Kurt was making my condition worse!

Wearily I pulled myself to my hands and knees, laughing and crying as I wagged a finger at him. "You... shouldn't... have... _said_ that!" I half-squealed, giggling madly. "And... and imagine... if Angel..." Another explosion of mirth took my breath away as I imagined Angel becoming the newest member of the Tubby X-Men.

The Tubby X-Men is what I mentally christened them. Us actually! I was a part of it.

Kurt exploded in another round of laughter. The thought of Angel being too fat to fly was hysterical. He wiped tears from his velvet blue cheeks and inhaled deeply. "Ach du lieber... wouldn't it be something if he couldn't lift his own self off the ground!"

I was thinking the same thing! I burst into uncontrollable giggles. With a tremendous effort, I blindly pulled myself to a kneeling position and slowly sat back on my heels, nearly paralyzed with laughter.

"Oh this... this is so bad," I choked out finally. "If... if Angel got wind of this he'd... he'd kick me out of his room... and throw his book after me!" Setting my hands on my knees, I shook my head helplessly as another wave of laughter hit me.

Kurt ran a clawed hand through his hair, his tail wagging wildly and his stomach heaving with laughter. "Ja... he probably would! But, then again... he can take a joke pretty well. Then again... you'd better start packing, just in case!"

Kurt wasn't helping! When I was quite pink from loss of oxygen, I took a deep breath and let the giggles subside to hearty chuckles. "Yes... I think that's good advice... and I wouldn't blame him if he... if he..." I tossed my head and laughed gloriously to the sky. "Poor Angel..." I brushed my fingers over my damp cheekbones, alternating giggles with sniffles. Then I looked up at Kurt with an expression that was supposed to be quizzical, but I couldn't keep a straight face for any money. "Hey, do you suppose I could pack _his_ stuff too?" Giggles threatened me, but I held on for one more second. "And move it all into my OWN space?"

I lost it.

"Ja... you do that, liebling!" returned the blue mutant, laughing with me. "Though you need at least two bags just for his beauty and styling products!"

I clapped both hands over my aching cheeks. They were _killing_ me, but I couldn't stop laughing. I was beginning to wonder if it was the subject material, or Kurt, or something in the gummy worms...

What else could it be? Then again, the idea of Angel and beauty products was...

"His _what?!_" I tried to smother my giggles, but it was useless. "Angel has something to improve his _beauty?!_"

I heard Kurt take in a huge breath and tumble onto his back in the grass, trying to pull himself together. Finally he nodded. "Well, he preens worse than a peacock, liebling... but do not tell him I said so!"

I giggled out of sheer embarrassment then, my cheeks growing so warm that I knew they'd turned a bright shade of magenta. I uncurled my legs and leaned my hands back in the grass, fighting for composure.

"If you want me to stay quiet, you're going to have to feed me gummy worms on a regular basis," I told him, mockingly stern. Now was as good a time for blackmail as any. I pulled one of the two last gummy worms from the bag and took my time savoring it, leaving the other worm for Kurt.

To laugh like that... was so wonderful.

After Kurt took the last gummy, his regretful gaze rested on the empty bag - which I found comical. His yellow eyes were glowing in the gathering darkness by then. "Alright, Fraulein... I will make sure to keep you well stocked with gummies. In fact, I may even have to throw in some gummy bears and gummy fish into the mix."

The shock of the announcement hit me so suddenly that my mirth fled with a gasp. I gazed at him with huge eyes.

"G-gummy bears?!" I cried, incredulous. "B-but how... how ever do you... eat them?!" The idea of gummy fish didn't bother me a whit - I was used to eating fish raw on occasion, when I was too hungry to stoke up a campfire and wait around for my catch to cook. But imagine an enormous gummy bear! _Oh Aslan have mercy..._

Kurt abruptly lost himself in a fresh fit of laughter, but I was too astonished to join in. I stared at him until he managed to say, "They are not life-size, liebling... though that would be fun. They are actually smaller than the worms, but just as yummy."

"Oh!" My relief exploded in a tremendous exhale. I laughed half-heartedly, quite sobered after such a mental shock. "They must be a rather... small breed of bear then, if they're tinier than worms. For a moment there, I thought you were scheming to see what a fat centaur would look like." For a second, I maintained perfect emotional equilibrium. Then I grinned at my own words and let out a lighthearted chuckle - which sounded, to my own ears, considerably more _sane_.

Kurt brushed a large hand over his eyes and took another breath. "Ah, but it would be fun to actually delve into a gigantic gummy bear. Perhaps we should suggest that to the candy company."

I felt my eyes light up with pure glee. "Oh can you imagine?! You could crawl _inside_ and munch away to your heart's content and get a colossal stomacheache. And there'd be plenty for the ants!" I sat back with a dreamy grin. "Gracious, that sounds magnificent."

"Now that is what I call good eating," the Incredible Nightcrawler agreed, rolling up the empty bag and stuffing it in his pocket. He laughed and sat up. "You know, I am incredibly thirsty after all that sugar. Would you care for something to drink?"

I could only smile at him. I was completely laughed out. Bracing my hands on the ground, I leapt lightly to my feet. "I'd be delighted," I responded. "My teeth feel... covered in sand grains." I made a face, then smiled again. "Oh that was fun," I declared, setting a hand to my aching stomach. My abs hurt after our laughter workout - which it truly was; there was no other term fitting enough for it.

Without warning Kurt pulled me close and...

_BAMF_.

I didn't have time to react or blink or be surprised at the suddenness of it before we were standing in the kitchen. As the smoke cleared, I shook my head once, then twice, warring with the aftereffects of teleporting - which didn't seem to be helped by excessive gummy worm consumption.

After he apologized to me for being in such a hurry to get something to drink (which I assured him was completely unnecessary), Kurt and I raided the fridge. I retrieved a traditional SOBE, while Kurt surprised me by going for a glass of unsweetened tea. Perhaps his sugar capacity had its limits.

"I was in a bit of a hurry myself," I admitted. "My poor throat was getting all parched from sugar and giggles, and I imagine yours was doing no better. But oh! What fun."

We wandered to the table. I slid into a chair while Kurt crouched in another next to me. He nearly inhaled his tea in a single long draught, and he set down the almost-empty glass before answering. "Well, I shall try to remember to warn before I 'port next time."

"If you don't, you owe me more candy things," I decreed with a firm nod and a twinkle in my eye, burying my thirst under another wave of SOBE.

Kurt saluted with his tail. "Agreed, meine Freundin... warnings will precede all teleportings from here on out."

I about choked on my SOBE. Sitting up straighter to avoid drowning in my favorite beverage, I laughed. "As you say, danke!"


	35. Farewell and Goodbye

Just days after my conversation with Kurt in the courtyard, he and Tessa departed to take some well-deserved time off in Kurt's homeland: Bavaria, Germany.

I stood beside the fountain, watching the X-jet lift off from its secret hangar on the Institute grounds, and smiling softly to myself. I was glad for them, but I was going to miss them like anything.

Once the X-jet had faded to nothing more than a black speck in the pale morning skies, I turned and trotted into the darkened woods. Wisps of mist still hung here and there like lost ghosts - which was fitting, really; fall was setting in and everything about fall seemed to speak to one - sadly - of loss, and the end of things, and the fading of what had been beautiful for a time of sleep. There was a bittersweetness about autumn.

Perhaps that feeling is made all the more poignant for me since I lost my parents in the fall, and that winter was the saddest of my life. But there is more to it than that, since I noticed it years before my life was rocked by tragedy.

Little did I know that this winter was going to be a test all its own, filled with its own brand of heartwrenching loss and nights of tears. I had an inkling of its coming - I felt it approaching. I was fully aware that I would suffer. I thought I would be strong enough to take it.

I was wrong.

Time is a funny thing. Time is a force that many believe will heal wounds. But it makes some wounds worse. That fall and winter in New York, such a calamity befell me.

There were times I wanted to leave Xavier's and go back to Narnia, where I could try and forget everything that had happened in that strange world. Only my promise held me to New York. Reminders were all over the school, so I spent as much time outdoors as I could to cope - and, I'm sorry to admit, I took to haunting the streets of New York at night while in my centaur form. I was fully armed, of course. But I did it because it was dangerous, just as I had gone to the wasteland deserts near Calormene because it threatened my very life. Shifting to a creature of pure _instinct_, where I relied on sight and smell and sound and my Danger Sense to survive those dark alleys, gave me a shot of adrenaline that successfully drowned out unbearable thoughts and feelings.

It was my way of dealing with pain: As much as I hate to admit it, even now, it wasn't too dissimilar from, say, beer. Adrenaline can be addictive - and exhausting. It was perfect in those days, since I had trouble capturing sleep unless I was thoroughly worn out.

For the first time since Aslan had drawn me out of the Calormene deserts, I reverted to those old ways of living, never knowing who or what I would encounter on my forays on those New York nights. And this time, to my relief and disappointment, Aslan didn't stop me.

Since the rapid disintegration of my emotional strength occurred within a few weeks of Kurt and Tessa's departure, I can only assume that I'd placed some kind of stock in them - as if they were stability in an unstable universe. Since they were so similar to my parents, I'd... already adopted them, in a manner of speaking. And Kurt was also like a brother to me. There were many days when I trotted past the vacant chapel and the Computer Room, wishing I could visit with them and talk about... life.

I contented myself with the knowledge that they would return soon - at some point in the future. Until then, I needed to cope on my own.

I wrote poetry. One such poem was about Aslan's death - superimposed with imagery from my own life. I titled it Farewell and Goodbye:

_In the cold gray of misty morn, _

_The lion climbs the broken ridge, _

_Heavy of limb, tears in golden eye. _

_Still and silent sentries watch _

_As he passes like shadowed ghost; _

_For him there is none to cry. _

_Lonely rose, at the touch of frost, _

_Slowly recedes; inner fire fades, _

_Winter comes, its time is nigh. _

_One by one its scarlet petals fall _

_And weep upon the lion's form, _

_Sweet perfume a whispered sigh. _

_Despairing for departed friends _

_Who filled green branch with song, _

_The tree sees them southward fly. _

_Longing to follow, leaves leap off _

_And spiral downward, falling short - _

_Goodbye, my love, farewell and goodbye. _

_On barren earth and humble mud _

_The lion falls, dawn's light dims, _

_On autumn's mound forever lie. _

_Withered leaves washed away; _

_The East triumphs, the tide shifts, _

_Worlds turn and time goes by. _

_Shimmered cloaks of silver stars _

_Cover over, life suspend, _

_In the quiet, the spirit seems to die. _

_All have gone, there is no hope, _

_Shattered dreams and would-have-beens, _

_Empty echoes without reply. _

_Winter lasts only a season, _

_The warmth of spring will come, _

_New life to fill brightened sky. _

_Awake, sleeping lion, and live! _

_To the wind and storm, say: _

_Farewell, my love, farewell and goodbye._

It ended on a note of hope. That, in itself, caused me to realize that no matter how dreadful I felt, there would still be a sunrise after nightfall - and a spring after the winter. Deep down, I knew I was going to be alright.

These seasons of darkness come for warriors like myself. Aslan lets us go through them - how cruel, seemingly! But he knew I would survive. He gave me as much as I could handle. He has more faith in me than I do. I broke inside, and cried more tears than I can remember, and suffered horrible agonies of the heart, and sank into a well of torturous regret and deep despair... but I survived.

I _survived_.

And when I emerged in the sunshine again, not only was I stronger for having passed through that painful experience alone, but I was ever more grateful for the dawn - and the spring. Have you ever noticed how quickly spring awakens after winter? One moment, the world is sleeping and silent and still; the next, birds explode into joyous song, and flowers leap from the dead grass, and leaves unfurl in emerald glory. Green invades the world and suddenly living creatures are everywhere. Within days of spring's arrival, you forget winter's dreary emptyness. It's truly amazing. Gratefulness will do the same for a cold heart that's been hibernating through an endless winter.

Besides all that, equating my suffering with Aslan's caused a stronger bond to grow between us. Aslan never left me at all during that time, I discovered. And when I went back to visit Narnia at Christmastime, I found him there waiting for me. Our love underwent a revival and a resurrection that mirrored the awakening spring.

He is always, always there.

So don't lose heart. Fight on. I wish you love... and spring.

Zephina Freeheart Wildfire


	36. What Am I?

Perhaps it was because I was surrounded by mutants. Perhaps it was because the subject of the mutant gene came up every single day around the mansion. And there was another stress that added to my anxiety - one I don't wish to speak of, but it was definitely the most important reason of all.

I was forced to wait. Logan and Jean got married in a nice outdoor ceremony, where white roses were twined in a white metal arch, and more white roses and white ribbons adorned the edges of white chairs, and even the sky above was white - simply cloudy, without the accompanying threat of rain. Ororo Monroe, codename Storm, took care of that, and soon the sun was shining down from sapphire skies on a group of excitedly laughing guests dressed their best, strolling about the lawn before the ceremony like so many brilliant gems. The women were beautiful - all of them. The men were dashing and handsome - all of them. There is a strange magic at weddings that transforms each and every guest into a prince or a princess, leaving no one out.

I couldn't bear to have that magic settle on me, however. I hung about on the fringes, stubbornly remaining in my centaur form, refusing to dwell on certain thoughts - which intruded regardless. I remained for the ceremony and the exchange of vows, then presented Jean and Logan with a white rose and a red rose, bound together with gold ribbon, before excusing myself without touching the incredible reception banquet. I gave my apologies, of course, and didn't think the company would miss my presence. It's never good to have a single stormcloud at such a festive event - especially not one as important as the joining of two hearts for all time.

After that, Logan and Jean left on their honeymoon. I forget their destination, now. Somewhere warm and tropical. In the meantime, I tried to concentrate on busying myself around Xavier's, but the more one tries to distract oneself, the more one finds their efforts backfiring. As the days became weeks, and the weeks became months, I found myself growing increasingly desperate.

They came back. I knew the minute they returned. But still I left them alone: They were newly married and predictably enraptured with each other, and they needed their space. They were having a time of it already, just keeping up with their responsibilities as teachers at the school.

Following their example, I immersed myself ever deeper in duties. There were the rosebushes that needed pruning in the gardens, and books to read in the library, and dishes and dinners that needed tending to, and studies of my own - which began in an impromptu fashion until I could get an appointment with Professor X himself and officially enroll. Of course, that meant I would have to be a mutant, which meant taking whatever trials she spoke of to determine my fitness to be among the mutant clan.

The rumors that Jean was pregnant reached my ears, and though I was glad enough for the couple, I took the news with a sinking feeling. My test was going to have to keep waiting.

But one morning, my patience abruptly came to an end. I sat up after yet another nightmare, where the slavers of the desert succeeded in capturing me. I was bound and trussed like a turkey, stuffed into a wooden crate barely large enough to accommodate me, and packed in the dark, dank hold of a ship bound for the Calormene shores. One thought kept running through my mind: _Why didn't I sense them coming?_

It was that which pushed me over the edge.

I tore through the whole mansion, my hooves drumming on the floor. I was completely frantic. Room after room I peered into, startling mutants from their various activities (mainly studies at this hour of the morning), but after sweeping a cursory glance over them, I hurried on. I wasn't willing to put this off any longer.

At last! I found her. I galloped full-out up to Jean and came skidding to a halt behind her. "Jean," I gasped breathlessly.

"Oh my god!" Jean nearly jumped at my sudden appearance and whirled, completely startled. If I'd wondered if she was pregnant before, her unstable emotional state proved it beyond a doubt. "Oh lord... Violar, you really scared me honey... I'm sorry."

I was too nervous to take all this in. I drew myself up tall. "Good morning, Jean. I'm sorry... I have to... I have to know. I'll take any test you put me through, absolutely any, but... Jean, am I a mutant?" My gray eyes pleaded with her.

She smiled, placing one hand on her chest and the other on her still-nonexistent tummy. "Alright dear, we'll run the tests right away. You have time now, do you?" I nodded urgently. "Alright. Come, let's go to the MedLab."

I nodded nervously and trotted after her, focusing on the reasons why I was doing this and not the possibilities. What sort of tests must a person undergo to determine if they're mutants? It must've been tough, to separate normal humans - _Homo Sapiens_ - from mutants - _Homo Superior_.

I stopped right there. If I let my mind wander too much into the future, I'd lose my nerve completely.

We entered the MedLab - a place I'd never been before. It was cold and metallic, with a few white-clothed metal tables, and silver equipment reading out information I couldn't decipher, and exceptionally bright long-armed lamps protruding from the ceiling. Strange unidentifiable instruments were everywhere I looked. Glass cabinets lined one of the walls, and inside of it were more glass shelves with a whole variety of labeled bottles and vials and tiny test tubes. What they were for, I have no idea.

Jean was putting on a white robe. "Sit down, dear."

This I obediently did, but my limbs were shaking as I pulled myself onto one of the metal white-sheeted beds. It must have been noticeable for Jean as well, because when she approached, she smiled reassuringly at me.

"Okay, sweetie, relax. Everything will be fine."

I took a shallow breath and nodded. Jean's hands were gentle when she fixed a tourniquet around my upper right arm. Something cold swabbed across my forearm, and I glanced over to find her brushing cotton with a strong scent of rubbing alcohol over it. I shivered involuntarily.

That's when she got out the needle.

I turned white as Angel's wings upon seeing the needle, but I tried not to show how frightened I really was. I turned a probing gaze on Jean, searching for the familiar tingles of danger I always sensed when something was about to go very wrong, but there was nothing but kindness coming from the lady mutant. I bit my lip and tried to relax, as Jean told me to.

"Okay, here we go," she said, and there was a sharp stab as the needle jabbed into my skin.

I moaned and clenched my fists, squeezing my eyes shut. It hurt, badly. The pain brought back memories of cuts and bites I'd sustained in the fever of battle. I tried my best not to react with all my warrior instincts and fight back, but it took every ounce of my willpower to accomplish this, along with my fragile trust in Jean - whom I'd only known for a short time. I bit down hard on my lip.

I don't know exactly what happened after that. I was waiting in my self-imposed darkness until I felt the needle receding, leaving only the residual pain - and, I was quite sure, a lot of blood. I opened first one eye, then the other, and found Jean taping a ball of cotton to my arm.

"See? That was all." Jean grinned at me, labeling a tiny glass tube containing blood - my blood. "It wasn't that bad, eh?"

_Yes it was,_ I thought, but I didn't answer. Cautiously I examined the tiny wound and prodded the cotton with a forefinger, then squared my shoulders and gave Jean a firm nod.

"Alright. Whatever comes next, I'm ready." I stood up and planted all four hooves on the metal floor, looking as determined as I could under the circumstances. I had no clue what sort of strange pre-trial ritual the taking of a small amount of blood was for, but I wasn't going to question it. The possibility of being a student at this school and, later, a member of the X-Men was far too important for that.

Finished with her labeling, Jean patted my back comfortingly. "It's alright, honey. We will know right away," she said, taking the vial of blood over to another table, upon which sat a curious contraption. Later I found out it was a kind of microscope.

I allowed myself to be comforted by Jean for only the briefest of moments. Then I set to pacing, my nerves getting too much for me. I was trying not to think what other tortures I might have to endure - and, of course, only wreaked havoc on my fragile mental state.

Jean had placed a drop of blood on a slide and was peering through one end of the microscope, which was aimed at the slide. While she worked, she prattled. "You see, the X-factor is not easy to catch under just any kind of microscope," she explained. I had no idea what she was talking about. "That's why Hank and I had to-"

A spectral silence filled the room, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of my hooves on that cold floor. Executing another turn, I traversed halfway across the room and suddenly paused. Jean had stopped talking. And then she turned, her face a picture of confused amazement.

"Violar, you have it. Honey, you are a mutant..."

I'd been wishing to hear those words for so long that the announcement didn't immediately register in my mind.

"You mean I don't have to do anything else?" I asked, matter-of-factly. Suddenly, like a blow to the head, Jean's full meaning crashed down on me. My eyes widened, my knees refused to support me any longer, and I caught a hand on the edge of the table, leaning weakly against it.

"I'm a mutant," I repeated in a breathless whisper, and a slight smile appeared on my lips as I closed my eyes and let the knowledge sink into my very soul. "By the mane, I'm a mutant."

The room spun. I remember leaving the MedLab in a daze. If I said anything else to Jean, or if she said anything else to me, I have no memory of it. The next thing I knew, I was pacing in the courtyard grass under a soft gray sky, trying to grapple with my new identity.

Because it was a whole new identity. Since I was a mutant, I supposed that, when I shifted form, the correct terminology is not that I shifted into a _human_ girl, but into a mutant, since mutants are no longer considered _human._

_But was that thinking actually correct?_ I wondered. That's a theory I'd had since my long talks with Angel. Perhaps it's true that humans and mutants will never know how to correctly classify each other... which is a terrible shame.

So back to my train of thought. If I can shift into a mutant, am I still a centaur? I was born a centaur, but I can change between a mutant and a centaur with ease. So what am I now, exactly?

I don't know. I didn't know then and answers were made no clearer months later. They don't even know what kind of mutant powers I have, or what my mutation allows me to do. I have what I've termed a Danger Sense, which allows me to feel emotions in those I come into contact with. Besides that? I am a mystery.

Maybe only one's heart knows the truth about who one really is, inside.


	37. American Food

Nobody goes out and picks dandelion leaves for their supper here in America. I know that may sound odd to you, but it's true. They prefer to eat... packaged things. Dandelions don't come in packages, therefore Americans ignore them... and miss out.

There's no cooking over outdoor campfires either. They have this huge box called a refrigerator, and it keeps food cold. I enjoy leaving the door open so it cools the room down too. With my fur coat, it's almost always a tad too warm for me indoors, and I miss the nice breeze.

Dinner isn't an established affair involving the entire community - at least, not as far as I can tell. Everyone fends for themselves. Especially because I'm a centaur with two stomachs - both of which are impossible to please - I have gotten to know the kitchen very well, and my frequent forays to the fridge have taught me a lot about American cuisine. In case you've never been blessed with the opportunity to sample it, allow me to elaborate so you can enjoy the experience vicariously. I am becoming something of an expert.

First, we have Chinese food. Chinese food consists of chicken, mostly, cooked in a variety of ways - mostly with a fried breaded coating smothered in one kind of delicious glaze sauce or another. The spices are sweet and hot at the same time, so I recommend keeping drinkable liquid close at hand, especially if you've never tried it before and you don't know what to expect. Quaff quickly if you get overwhelmed. General Tso's chicken is a particular favorite of mine, but I understand he's been deceased for several hundred years. Pity; I should have liked to meet him. His soldiers must have been rather well off with such a proficient chef for a general.

These Chinese dishes are excellent cold, eaten straight out of the fridge, but I'm going to experiment and cook some over a fire in the courtyard, if Angel will let me. I'll have a report on the results to share with you afterwards.

Pizza was an intriguing discovery. I found it stashed in a cardboard box and inspected it carefully: Cheese, all melted atop cold tomato sauce smeared over some kind of bread, with diced olives, peppers and unique assortments of unidentifiable meats. This is absolutely splendid, eaten cold.

So enamored have I been with these two dishes that I've not pressed on into less familiar culinary realms. I still go out and munch grass and dandelions when I can get away with it. Since it's not customary for these people to eat stuff growing in the courtyard, I don't like to graze while anyone else is watching. Normally I sneak out of Angel's room at night and add a dose of fiber to my diet while watching the stars.

Angel was amused by my grazing habits though, so I don't mind eating grass in front of him. He wondered aloud if excessive vegetation was responsible for centaurs' 600-year-long lifespans, a thought which never occurred to me before. It's definitely an interesting theory. If I can prove there's truth in it, who knows! I may convince Angel to graze with me - at least occasionally. What a delightful prospect!

This sounds totally barbaric, but you simply must try _Gummy Worms_. When Tessa said these Gummy Worms were some of Kurt Wagner's favorite snacks, I worried: His mind was farther gone than I thought. I had to stop contemplating whether or not Americans also might consider _Mushy Cockroaches _a delicacy before I lost my centaurian appetite permanently.

When I delivered a bag of Gummy Worms to Kurt as a gift from Tessa, I had no intention of actually eating one. But Kurt offered me a taste very kindly and I hadn't the heart to refuse him. I instinctively recoiled from the wiggling green dead thing Kurt held out to me, stiffening my forelegs and leaning away in sheer disgust. I had to remind myself that I'd eaten worse things in the Calormen deserts (though not in a really long time) before I took it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Prepared for the worst, I hastily popped it in my mouth and chewed once, making a face. Then twice, still making a face. Then a third time...

Suddenly sugary fruit juices exploded in my mouth. Lime - I think it was lime! Or else green apple - danced all over my tongue. Thrilled, I had no qualms about testing the red worms, which are, according to Kurt, the very best. Whether red Gummy Worms are strawberry or cherry might remain a mystery until the end of Time, but I agree wholeheartedly with Kurt's assessment: Red Gummy Worms are the best. No ifs, ands or buts.

As far as beverages go, I have some advice: Get a knowledgeable expert to handle the coffeemaker. One of the mutants tried to tell me it was 'ridiculously simple' to miraculously transform a small mountain of dark brown, strong-smelling coffee beans, a white coffee filter and cold water into... hot coffee. Coffeemakers are these strange plastic-and-metal devices which are supposed to produce... hot coffee. But they're absolutely incomprehensible. I met Tessa while struggling with the apparatus. I nearly dropped the glass carafe and my tail smacked a mug - which shattered on the floor and scared the daylights out of me. It was really rather embarrassing.

I still haven't had so much as a sip of coffee. Thus I don't know whether to recommend it or advise extreme caution. Tessa enjoys it, but she prefers to make her own coffee. ("Most people around here wouldn't know a good cup of coffee if it walked up and introduced itself to them," she said, which caused me to laugh incredulously and remark, "Of all wonders! What a world this is, where the very fare is polite even in the face of imminent consumption!" I include this tidbit of knowledge so you won't make the same mistake I did: Coffee doesn't talk. Tessa was merely using a common expression. It's so easy to appear a complete idiot in a world such as this one, so I'll attempt to warn you of these common foibles and thus, hopefully, make your transition somewhat less painful.)

When I have analyzed coffee for myself, I'll pass along my findings.

I have, however, discovered the piéce de résistance of American beverages: SOBE. Odd name, I know. And they have pictures of energetic skateboarding lizards cavorting over the front of the bottles. But trust me on this: Just one sip of SOBE and you'll never look back, I promise you. SOBE comes in a variety of fruit flavors, and at the moment I'm enjoying one they call Blizzard. Or, Blizz for short. It has a light undercurrent of coconut zing. I also harbor great appreciation for SOBE Black & Blue, which contains a tantalizing mixture of blackberries and blueberries - hence the name. Inside every SOBE lid is always printed some cryptic message - I suppose it to be either words of wisdom or a secret communique. At the moment, I'm contemplating my most recent one: "The lizard has spoken. Try again."

Whatever could it mean? I believe it may be a royal decree. "The Lizard" may be their leader. I suppose they would refer to him as such. His order to "Try Again" could apply to... absolutely anything under the sun. Perhaps he was displeased with the most recent batch of SOBE? His tastes must be superbly refined, as I have no complaints. At all.

If I gain further knowledge on this message, I'll let you know. I hope to puzzle out the truth at some point. In the meantime, I'm thoroughly enjoying the brews these American lizards concoct. I plan to ask for the recipe if I meet one of them. Since the message said "The Lizard has spoken," I also assume these are _Talking_ Lizards, which means they could be originally native to Narnia.

I also plan to convert Angel to SOBE-drinking. I haven't tried American beer (though I surely will), but if it's anything like the Dwarfs' Ale, SOBE has it far outclassed. Again, I'll report on my progress when I can.

The urge to gulp down SOBE by the invigorating mouthful is difficult to resist, but I made the mistake of doing just that when Logan announced that he was going to "pop the question" to Jean. I almost drowned in fruit juice.

I'm happy to report I didn't: I'm still alive and well and I was able to congratulate Logan properly once I'd extracted my vocal chords from stray puddles of SOBE. Needless to say, that single experience cured me of excessive SOBE greed.

I find I like "casual dining," but if the centaurs back home could see me now, no doubt they'd be horrified. Manners fail me. I talk with my mouth full and put my elbows on the table. No one cares, so neither do I. Logan seems to find me particularly amusing and I wish I knew why. I haven't had the guts to ask him.

Happy eating!

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	38. Too Late

Angel avoided me in a most painful way after our discussion in the courtyard. At night, he was either sound asleep by the time I arrived in his room - or else he wouldn't show up at all. I was relegated to one corner with a pillow and a blanket - though the blanket was all I needed when I sat on the floor in my centaur form.

I had a habit of staying up late - and often stargazing. But Angel had me outdone. So many nights, I fell asleep waiting for him to come.

In the mornings, he was already gone. Only the rumpled bedsheets evidenced that he'd been there at all, and my hearts sank.

I hated to impose on his space. He made it clear that the morose red-winged mutant he shared his room with wasn't welcome - which Jay merely took with a careless shrug. Jay didn't care about anything, and he didn't talk. I never pressed Jay; if he wanted companionship or fellowship, I'd made myself available. But there was no need to corner him...

_Like I'd cornered Angel,_ I thought with a wince.

Then one day, in mid-October, Angel's bedsheets were crisp and untouched. The next day, same story. I was beginning to feel worried, and when I casually questioned a few of the mutants, no one knew of his whereabouts.

I was alarmed. Angel had disappeared without a trace - and without any prior warning. I tried to keep myself occupied enough not to think about it. This was probably normal. Maybe he'd gone off on a secret mission. X-Men lived life on the edge, after all.

But that knowledge didn't help my morale.

I visited the Danger Room... a lot. I cleaned out and organized the disaster of a pantry in the mansion kitchen. I learned how to operate a vacuum and, despite how much I hated what the awful noise did to my nerves and my sensitive hearing, I vacuumed the loose red and white feathers off Angel's carpet - molted from both Angel himself and Jay, though the majority of the feathers were, by far, white. Apparently having a roommate wasn't as big a deal to Jay as it was to Angel. I spent much time with Jay: Listening to him strum mindlessly on his electric guitar and keeping silent company.

I studied diligently in the library. Visited the newest addition to the Howlett family. Sparred any willing mutants who had a shred of swordsmanship skill in the courtyard. Played tag with the mutant children. "Healed" cuts and bruises sustained by the hyperactive mutant children, even though most of them had healing abilities on their own: It was fun to make-believe. Tended the gardens. Pored over enormous volumes on modern herblore. And basically rushed myself through each day with such tenacious energy that when night finally fell, I nearly passed out from exhaustion.

But after three days, and I had fallen as low as mindless pacing in the courtyard, thoughts intruded that I really would rather not have entertained. What if he were captured by an anti-mutant group? What if the people who'd tailed me in the beginning, whom Angel had so neatly taken out, had come back for revenge? What if he'd run into one of his many enemies and was, even now, lying somewhere in a dark alley, injured or...

I dared not finish that sentence.

But I lived at Xavier's Institute. If Angel were in trouble, his teammates would surely know much faster than I. I was still a stranger - a centaur from another world. I had good intentions, but even I was wise enough to know that I had more of a chance of being a liability in an unfamiliar situation than an asset.

Nevertheless, I was steadily losing my sanity. I missed Narnia - a place where I was revered and treated as a great warrior, outcast though I was. If Angel had gone missing in my country, I would have had a search party rounded up in no time, messenger birds scattered to the four winds, and trackers on his trail. Just because he could fly didn't mean we would be unable to track him.

I had to get back to Narnia. My dwindling supply of cherry cordial was an excellent excuse, so I took it and ran with it - literally.

The familiar scents of the Narnian forest closed in over me like a warm blanket. It was autumn, and the Great Woods were aflame with colors and alive with the helter-skelter scurrying of the dumb animals shoring up their winter food supplies. I hunted down all the necessary ingredients for an entire day and set up camp for the night. The next morning, I traveled further southward, and by afternoon I reached a Dwarven owned and operated inn nestled in the Great Woods called The Splintered Axe. The place was old, but well-kept, and it smelled of dark wood and roasted meat. I was friendly with the old dwarf woman named Tannin who owned the place. She'd been running the inn alone for several decades since her husband had been killed while on a mission to rescue a handful of captured Narnians.

Despite the tragedy, Tannin had persevered admirably. She missed her husband terribly, but she ran the inn and was kind to all creatures. She too, had some skills with healing, and she kept one room in the inn full of supplies.

I entered through the thick wooden door and glanced around the dimly-lit, sparsely-furnished interior. I was delighted to find her familiar gray head in the rocking chair near the flickering fireplace, where she was mending a sock - a large one, by the looks of it, so it could not have belonged to the dwarf. That was just like her, to be taking care of someone else.

"Good to see you, Zephina," she greeted me in a crackling tone, her ancient features wrinkling further with a warm smile. Her merry blue eyes twinkled as if at some private jest - which I remembered well about her. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, off on one adventure or another," I replied vaguely.

Tannin cackled warmly. "My, Zephina, if you aren't your mother's daughter. She was always wandering about before she met your father and settled down."

My face fell before I could catch it, and I tried to recover and smile before she noticed. "Just walking in her hoofprints, I suppose."

Tannin chuckled, and I couldn't tell whether or not she'd seen my brief mood shift. "Dear, dear, dear. Listen to me rambling on. Things have been quiet around here, and I haven't entertained company in awhile - save the poor ragged Son of Adam with holes in his socks." She waved the sock she'd been mending. "And the socks were the least of his troubles. My, I spent all of yesterday afternoon patching his trousers! I used up a good portion of my cloth. It might have been easier to start over with new trousers, but I couldn't convince him to part with them. I failed," she went on with amiable laughter. "But I daresay I outdid myself, and he may get a few more seasons of wear out of them. Yesterday they were fit for burning and little else. Now I need to make a visit to Sted Cair and purchase more cloth and thread."

I clasped my hands behind my back and tucked a hind hoof to rest it. "They'll be pleased to see you, I'm sure," I said.

Tannin laughed good-naturedly, and then she waved a small, wrinkled hand. "My, there I go again, babbling on about everything. Would you like a cup of tea, child?"

My tail switched impatiently, but I could hardly refuse the kind old dwarf. She was lonely, poor thing. "I'd be delighted, actually," I replied, stepping closer to the fire.

"Dear..." Tannin laid aside half-mended sock and struggled against the chair. "My, we're in for a harsh winter! My old bones are already complaining, and we have yet to see our first snow. Would you be gracious enough to pour it for us?"

I was more than happy to oblige. I buckled my limbs and sat down on a rug near the hearth. "Tell me news of Narnia," I invited as I stoked the fire and prepared the tea. "I expect you hear a few things, keeping up an inn."

Tannin laughed as I handed her a steaming cup. "That I do! I like to talk with them all, now that my dear Pipkin passed on, bless his soul." She sighed deeply - sadly, I thought. "It gets dreadfully quiet in the winter."

"At least you have one guest," I remarked, settling in with my own cup of tea. I cradled the hot mug carefully between my hands.

"You?" asked Tannin hopefully.

I laughed and shook my head. "No, I'm afraid I cannot stay the night. I meant the raggedy Son of Adam you've taken under your wing."

"Oh! Well yes, he has been company, though I cannot say I enjoy talking with him."

My eyebrows lifted. "Why not?"

"Because he says depressing things," answered Tannin with a sigh. "Reminds me of the time my dear Pipkin died. So many other guests bring good news, but not this fellow Lysander."

I frowned. "What sort of tidings did he bring?"

"Lysander is a scout," answered the old dwarf, "and he is on leave from patrolling the northern border near Jadis' old castle. The leave was long overdue, I daresay. You've never seen a Son of Adam looking so glum, but no wonder!" She turned her attention to her tea and blew gently at it. "I think I would look so glum, if I'd..." She spoke between puffing at her cup. "If I'd seen... those things... flying around..."

She fell silent and chanced a sip while I waited anxiously.

"My, still too hot," she declared. "Would you be a dear and fetch the pitcher of milk?"

I set my tea aside and scrambled to my hooves, trotting toward a table against the wall. There, on a small wooden tray, was the pitcher.

"What sort of things did he see?" I asked as I picked up the milk.

Tannin made an unhappy groaning noise in her throat. "Oh, gracious me. Some kind of completely new creature. If my old memory hasn't failed me, I think he called them 'angels'."

I stumbled in mid-stride and almost dropped the pitcher. "A-angels? You're quite sure?" I stammered.

She looked at me quizzically. "You've heard of them, then?"

"S-something like that," I muttered, frowning. "And you say they were flying... over Ettinsmoor?"

"The White Witch's old castle, to be precise. The milk, dear."

I'd forgotten all about the milk. I came forward and carefully poured a little of the liquid into her tea, then straightened up again. "Did he say what they... looked like?"

"More than that," responded the dwarf, puffing at her tea again. "They had wings with brightly-colored feathers. He spoke of one named Inwe with white feathers and green hair. They look like Daughters of Eve - deceptively beautiful Daughters of Eve - but with wings. And there was another one who was pink... what was her name... I cannot recall. Alathe... Alma... Amalthea, that's it. And a purple one called Crysta."

"He must have gotten very close," I remarked uneasily, lowering myself to the rug again. "How can this Lysander be certain they aren't benevolent?"

Tannin blinked at me. "Where _have_ you been, child? One of them cast a spell over a faun, and there are rumors of more... but such rumors I will not repeat. I share information, but I will not stoop to gossip. These angel creatures consort with the minions of Ettinsmoor and with Maeta herself. And, 'tis said, they are not from Narnia at all - but some other world."

Some _other_ world?! Could these brightly-colored creatures who called themselves angels be using the same portholes I used to travel between dimensions?

"I'm terribly sorry, dear," said the old dwarf apologetically. I looked up and found her concerned gaze on me. "This news has troubled you deeply."

I realized I'd been scowling, and I glanced off to one side with a shrug as I allowed the lines to smooth from my forehead. "Threats to Narnia are always troubling," I replied quietly. "Especially when those threats are of a sort that we have never had to contend with before."

Tannin chuckled. "Nonsense, child. All threats to Narnia are new and dreadful things. But there must be a way for us to protect Narnia. If it were bad enough, Aslan would surely intervene like he did in the days of the White Witch, would he not?"

_But he allowed Narnia to suffer for a hundred years under Jadis' reign,_ I thought but didn't say.

Before I could think up a more suitable answer, Tannin waved a wrinkly hand. "Enough of this. Surely you came here with a purpose, if you interrupted your aimless wanderings. I doubt you came to share news with an old dwarf over tea - especially when your tea has gone untouched. It looks quite cold!" I looked down and blushed, then hastily took a long sip of lukewarm mint tea. Tannin's gentle laughter followed. "But do not feel obligated to do my tea justice. You can't hurt its feelings. What brings you here, Zephina?"

I chuckled. "I wished to make more cherry cordial," I answered humbly. "If I might have the use of your supplies..."

"But of course! You hardly need ask." Tannin struggled against her chair, so I set down my tea, clambered to my hooves, and offered my hands to help her rise. "Thank you, child. My old bones... Oh, but you've already heard enough about my old bones, and they aren't getting any younger. Now, follow me."

I trailed after her as she led me down a corridor and unlocked a room, opening the door. The walls were lined with shelves, and in the middle of the room was a large wooden table full of mixing bowls, pestles, glass jars, flasks, pitchers, and various other cups and containers. Tannin left me alone, and I set up a cauldron over the fire and boiled my herbs into a steaming, bubbling potion, which I poured into several small flasks. As I always did, I would leave a large portion of the cordial for Tannin and her guests to use. Then I would sell most of them to the fauns in Bergdale and keep just three for myself.

I took my leave of the kindly old dwarf. "Aslan be with you, Tannin."

"May the Lion guide your hooves," she responded, and I smiled as I closed the front door and wandered into a tangerine-colored twilight.

Much as I wanted to linger in the familiarity of Narnia, I felt in a wild hurry to get back to New York. Maybe Angel would have returned by then - or maybe there would have been less pleasant news, a prospect that set both my hearts thumping with fear. Part of me was a little irritated that I felt some kind of desire to keep track of Angel: He was an independent soul who hated to be tied down, and if he felt like I was trying to manage his schedule, I didn't imagine he'd be terribly happy about it.

I was worried about him, but was that any excuse?

Then I sighed. I had to admit that I wasn't just worried about him. My feelings ran far deeper than that. When I broke into a canter and turned my hooves northward, I wasn't running back to New York. Nor was I coming back to Xavier's.

I was rushing back to Angel.

The conscious realization - or, perhaps, the admission and the surrender - was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Angel was so beautiful, and... I loved him.

I _loved_ him. By the mane, I _loved _him!

But I had to be rational. I had to think clearly.

Being a woman, I was not supposed to make the first move. The proper order of things was for the man to speak his mind first. And Angel... Angel was the kind of man who tried to be accommodating - especially to women - at all costs, and what I most feared was that if he discovered how I felt about him, he might accept me merely because I had no resistance to him... or out of a desire to keep me from suffering a broken heart. The very thought caused me to feel sick to both stomachs. He had his own free will, and I would not compromise that. I cared too much about him to make him feel trapped.

But maybe he was afraid of me, some other part of my aching heart argued. Maybe he was afraid that I thought much less of him now, after he'd shared so much about himself - when quite the opposite was true. Maybe I should give him a hint. That wouldn't go against the laws of chivalry and womanly conduct, would it?

I left the Great Woods and cantered northward along the river, which was full of yellow and orange autumn leaves floating along the rushing current. Night had fallen when I crossed the river at a shallower point and reached the Western Woods, and the lamppost gleamed yellow through the trees ahead. I made for it, then veered slightly to the left and halted to look up at the stars of Narnia - which were alive. Inexperienced as I was with reading them, I did see a great sign of foreboding woven into their eternal dance.

I pursed my lips firmly, then crossed the threshold into New York.

The air changed. I could smell the harsh heat of distant industry and acrid car exhaust, even though the main part of the city was much further away. I glanced up at the stars: Cold, unmoving constellations that shimmered and twinkled like the stars of Narnia, but with a different light. They did not dance, they merely drifted in eternal, lonely orbits in the dark expanse I now knew as space.

I shivered at the autumn bite in the night air, then broke into a canter again and continued through the shadowy forest. Lights gleamed through the trees, much like the lamppost in Narnia, and I emerged from the eaves of the wood and stared at Xavier's Institute in all its evening glory.

I felt my face soften. It was refuge. It was safety. It was home.

I trotted more slowly down the hill and loped easily across the dark courtyard, and the cheerful gurgling of the gray fountain greeted me. I quickly climbed the stone steps and trotted onto the back porch, my hooves clattering against the stones. Two of the white stone urns that held burgundy chrysanthemums looked a little downcast, as if they could use some water. I made a mental note to take care of that in the morning.

I punched a numeric code into the metallic box beside the back door and waited for the familiar click. Then I opened the door and stepped into the wood-floored hallway. The entire mansion was silent and peaceful, and the dim yellow lighting was as calm as the atmosphere. I let the door close behind me, switching my tail as I entered the sleeping mansion.

At once I was conscious of my hooves ringing against the floor, so I touched my choker and shifted into my smaller - and quieter - humanoid form. My sword belt felt heavier, and I adjusted my refilled leather satchel over my shoulder as I crept like a shadow down the hallway. I passed the lounge and peered in, studying the grandfather clock in the corner.

It was nearly midnight. And, my rumbling stomach reminded me, midnight snacks were a delightful tradition in New York.

Turning, I made straight for the kitchen. It had been a long journey, and I hadn't eaten much on the way, and I was starving. I swept through the doorway and came skidding to a halt.

The refrigerator door was open. A masculine hand was on the handle, and although most of the fellow's body was hidden behind the door, two enormous white wings protruded over the top of the door and spilled in a glorious cascade of snowy feathers that nearly brushed the floor.

A startled cry of delight came from my throat. "Angel!"

His blonde head shot up over the door, narrowly missing a concussion against the bottom of the freezer, and his blue eyes found mine. His whole face was transformed by a heartstopping smile.

"Hey, V. Long time no see," he greeted me, pushing the door closed.

"Way too long, my friend!" I agreed, ducking out of my satchel and letting it fall to the floor. I tried to ignore the sudden surge of my own blood pressure as I beamed at him. His reaction to my sudden appearance was incredibly encouraging. "How have you been?"

He glanced down at the beer in his hand, and a brief expression of shame crossed his face. I suddenly wondered if he were remembering the lecture I'd given him about drinking beer, and a little uncertainty tempered my enthusiasm.

"Pretty good, I guess," he replied, considerably sobered. "I've been soooo busy."

"Have you," I responded breathlessly with a laugh, and then I worried that my laugh sounded as nervous as I felt. I clasped my hands, then took a few more hasty steps into the kitchen and paused, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island. I dared not get any closer to him. "I wasn't sure where you went."

"I didn't know where you were either," he said, shifting his wings aside so that he could lean casually against the counter with an easy smile.

My eyebrows jumped, and I laughed again. "Really? I didn't know if you'd notice whether I'd gone missing. I just went to Narnia for a couple of days."

He lowered his head, then reached back for his wallet and flipped through it until he had his bottle opener. "It would be impossible not to notice your absence," he said quietly, popping the lid.

My heart pounded wildly, and I felt the tension in my smile. I was as afraid to read what I _thought_ was in his words as I was to ignore it completely. But I could not contain the hope fluttering inside of me.

He smiled disarmingly. "Did I miss anything while I was gone?"

I inhaled while I had air to breathe. "Yes! One of the mutant children had a birthday party, and there were three huge cakes and trays of cookies and so many cartons of ice cream that I lost count. It was enough to give a centaur a stomachache!"

Angel chuckled and took a sip of his beer. "Oh wow, that all sounds amazing right now. I'm starving. You didn't happen to save any for me, did you? Haha."

I brightened. "I did, actually. And you can have it. Believe me, I don't want ANY more. I can't take any more sugar!"

I headed at once for the pantry and pulled open the door, and I felt Angel watching me with amusement - a sensation that warmed me all over and filled me with nervous tension at the same time. I was glad to be rummaging around on the shelves near the pantry door.

Angel's wings fluttered. "Mmm, sugar. Did you have a good trip?"

Small talk was more than welcome right then.

"Oh it was great," I responded as I brought half a yellow cake with white frosting in triumph from the pantry depths and placed it on the counter, removing the clear plastic lid. But Angel didn't move for the cake, I noticed; he was watching me with a casual demeanor and an easy smile. I didn't meet his eyes, concentrating instead on shuffling through a drawer until I found a pie server. "Exhausting, but great. The fall colors were just starting to change, and I'm addicted to those. Would you get a bowl for me?"

Angel set his beer on the counter and turned around, and he produced a bowl from the cabinet behind him. "Sounds like a lovely place to visit in the fall," he remarked.

"In any season, Narnia is lovely - all for different reasons," I replied. "Thank you." I took the bowl from him and cut a generous slice of the cake, placing it in the bowl - and hoping he wouldn't notice how my hands were shaking. My cheeks felt warm; I prayed to Aslan that my emotions wouldn't be so visible.

"I'd love to see it sometime," said Angel.

"I'd be delighted to take you." I ventured a smile up at him and held out the bowl. "Here you go."

"Oh, thanks." He took it and opened another drawer, standing for a moment in indecision as he tried to choose between a fork and a spoon. His wings spread slightly, then folded tighter against his back.

The brief but heavy silence was pure torture. Then, out of desperation, I drew a shallow breath and changed the subject without looking at him, opting instead to secure the plastic lid over the cake. "So what have you been up to?"

Angel had just selected a spoon, and he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes for the first time. "Uh, well, I have a little girlfriend now. Haha."

A shock slammed through me. My whole world came screeching to a halt, and my heart plummeted like a rock. I knew I'd gone pale, but I struggled to pass it off as merely surprise.

"Oh really? Who?" I heard myself ask.

"A girl named Thea." He took a big chunk of cake on the fork and crammed it into his mouth. His manners were usually so impeccable that I could only assume he was delaying any further discussion about it.

Walls were crashing down around me, and I mentally scrambled for something to say. "Well, that's news," I remarked, and I picked up the cake and carried it to the pantry on weak knees. I disappeared into the semidarkness and took my time situating it on the shelf. I hid there, though I let my hands brush against various crackly plastic bags to give the impression that I was genuinely busy. "How did it happen?"

"I met her at this club," came the voice of the man I cared deeply for. "I'm not really sure how it happened. We were dancing and we got drunk, and she kissed me. We started talking a few days after that, and her friends were all saying how much she liked me, so... yeah."

I stared up at the dark ceiling and shook my head in disbelief. This was a nightmare. Any moment now, I would wake up and find that none of this was real. It had all happened so fast...

"Oh dear," I offered.

"It's not so bad," Angel tried to assure me. "Her little group is doing their best to keep me in line. They are insane."

I couldn't procrastinate any longer, so I composed myself as best I could and stepped out of the pantry. "I hope you have a circle of friends in place to keep HER in line," I said with a sharp glance as I shut the door.

"I don't, but she'll do alright," replied Angel, who was looking at me like a nervous schoolboy at a teacher. "She's the innocent type, despite that drunken kiss."

I didn't believe that. "Alright, if you say so."

He suddenly laughed incredulously. "I know. It's crazy. Anyway, I realize I still owe you a conversation. I just haven't had the time."

I looked away, my heart in my throat, and I wandered back to my side of the island. "Oh, that's alright." I shrugged it off. "I've been busy - and traveling to Narnia and making potions and things like that. It's alright."

He looked at me apprehensively. "You okay?"

No. No, I wasn't okay. Everything was all wrong.

I swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'm okay," I lied. "I'm alright." I winced: I didn't sound very convincing. I hastily continued. "The most important thing to me is that you're doing alright..."

"Is this about Thea?"

I shrugged and looked at the floor. "A little."

"You don't like her, do you."

"I don't know her," I said evenly. "But from what you've told me so far... honestly, no, I don't trust her." I winced again. "I hate to say that," I went on sincerely. "I'm really sorry."

"No, no, it's perfectly alright." Angel came forward and set the bowl on the counter, and he stood so that only the corner of the island stood between us. "You know I value your opinion. Do you think she will cheat on me?"

I hadn't gotten that far in my mental processes, because I couldn't think. But she was a woman who'd met him at a New York club, and she'd kissed him. And she'd captured him. Yes, come to think of it, cheating was a definite possibility.

"I'm worried about you," I answered quietly without looking at him, knowing that if he could see the heartbreak in my eyes, he would know everything. I scratched absently at a spot of congealed liquid on the island counter. "I don't want to see you get hurt again, Angel."

"I know you don't, and I appreciate your concern," he insisted, sounding as if he were trying to convince me. "I'll just see how this goes. These things never last anyway. Just look at my last two... three... relationships."

I flinched. "Ouch." Three failed relationships - and I placed no blame on Angel for I continued to run my nail over the counter surface for no reason at all, and I focused all my concentration on my actions. "It's just that... you're different. I'm not sure how to describe this without sounding totally off-base but..."

"But what?" prodded Angel.

I risked a glance at him, then lowered my gaze again. "You are just different, and you're sort of caught in a world where people don't seem to deeply care about each other. I mean... as long as the relationship is going well, I'm sure things will be great, but it's just hard to say how much she cares about you as a person." Every word twisted my heart painfully tighter. "You're sensitive, and kind, and always giving. That makes you easy to take advantage of..."

I was forced to stop there, scowling at the countertop.

"I know," said Angel quickly. "What do you suppose her motive is, then?"

How was I supposed to know? Who did he think I was, anyway - a glorified Jean Grey, able to see into hearts and minds and even souls?

I bit my lip hard, then responded in a steady tone. "It's hard to say for sure." I shook my head. "This is terrible... I'm not used to talking like this about anyone. I know I'm doing a dreadful job of it..."

"No, you aren't," soothed Angel, and he touched my forearm. "I just hope I haven't upset you."

I straightened up and fought back the impulse to shake his hand away. "It's okay, Angel." I sighed. "Mostly, right now, I just don't want to speak badly of someone you care about."

His voice gentled further. "You don't have to hide anything from me, love," he murmured soothingly, and his hand pressed my forearm and sent a surge of emotion to my eyes. I had to look away. "If you have something to say, go ahead and say it. I have the same reservations about the relationship, you know. I'd be an idiot if I didn't."

For a moment I stared deep into those beautiful blue eyes, searching for any sign that might give me some hope. Did I ever have something to say to Angel, and it had nothing to do with this Thea. It had everything to do with me.

All the words were right there; if I'd so much as opened my mouth, the floodgates would have been loosed. Aslan knows what I would have said.

But suddenly I looked away, and my gaze fell on the trash can. Some desperate instinct for survival kicked in, and it saved me.

"It's garbage night," I stammered, pulling away from his hand and rushing toward the trash can. I wrestled the bag free of the container and set it on the floor, tying the top into a tight knot. "I'd better get this out there."

"But the truck doesn't even show up until ten or eleven," said Angel, sounding completely baffled.

"I... I know. But sometimes they forget," I rambled on, tying a second knot into the bag. "I'll just go... take this out there, and I'll be back."

"Alright, that's fine," Angel agreed halfheartedly, staring at me in utter confusion. "I'll be here."

I nodded and glanced at him over my shoulder. "See you shortly." I jerked the bag off the floor and hurried out of the kitchen.

I don't remember how I made it outside. The next thing I knew, I was sitting beside the rotten-smelling dumpster under a cold and starry sky, and the trash bag sat next to me like an uncaring companion. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my arms, taking deep, sobbing breaths without breaking down completely.

I was devastated. It had all happened so fast... before I'd had a chance to do or say anything. Or maybe I'd had that chance... and I'd let it slip through my fingers.

Angel didn't love me. I knew that for certain now. My opinion mattered to him because he thought of me as some kind of mentor - someone who held him accountable. Why shouldn't he think that? Had I been less censorious in my remarks, perhaps he wouldn't have seen me that way.

I didn't want to be placed above him. I wanted to be by his side.

Now it was too late.

Sitting beside the malodorous dumpster on a cold October night, I killed my feelings and buried them away. I had been crazy, after all.

And then I felt nothing.


	39. Only Tears Left to Cry

Once I stood up, I felt different - cold and locked away again. And strong. But broken inside.

I made my way slowly into the mansion, mentally reviewing possible excuses. Enough time had passed that I couldn't say I had been just taking out the garbage. I came up empty-handed as I stepped through the kitchen doorway.

Angel was still there, waiting for me.

"Hey," he said, smiling with genuine concern in his blue eyes. He came toward me. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Yes," I lied calmly. My whole world had come crashing down in an instant, and my heart ached to discover that the man I loved had no feelings other than respect for me. Just respect. That was all.

"Perfectly fine," I said with a stiff smile.

"Alright." Angel was clearly doubtful. "You seem more like you're in shock."

I scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "It happened pretty fast, didn't it? Last I heard, you'd sworn off women for awhile." I sounded sharper than I'd intended, so I stepped around him and headed for the fridge. "If you want to talk about her, or whatever, let's go sit in the lounge. It's more comfortable there. Let me just get some food first."

I scanned the contents of the refrigerator shelves. There were several boxes of Chinese takeout - my very favorite. But I trembled, remembering the first time I'd ever even Chinese takeout, and suddenly I couldn't stomach the thought of eating it.

"Finding everything okay in there?" came the voice of Angel.

I gulped and seized a wrapped Subway sandwich - or rather half of one. "It's a refrigerator, not the wardrobe to Narnia," I retorted, pulling out a SOBE Orange Carrot Elixir before straightening up and booting the door shut.

Angel looked a little surprised at my abrasive wit, but I smiled at him. "I'm kidding. Lead the way."

As he turned and headed for the doorway, I glanced back at the island counter and noticed that Angel hadn't finished his cake. I didn't allow myself to wonder why. Anything that came too close to hope hurt like fire, and I was determined to avoid it.

Soon we were settled on either side of a comfy couch in the middle of the lounge. I closed my eyes and silently prayed grace - deliberately excluding Angel for fear that I'd burst into tears while conversing with Aslan. As it was, I had to keep my prayer short and to the point, going no further than to thank the Great Lion for the food and asking him to bless the poor mutant who would miss it tomorrow.

Then I opened my eyes, peeled back the wrapper, and buried my face in the sandwich. I came up with an enormous bite.

Angel chuckled and leaned back against the couch arm - a position he opted for, I supposed, so that he could trail his beautiful wings to the floor without smashing them. He wore jeans, as usual, and one leg lay flat against the couch cushions. But, as usual, his manners were impeccable: His boot hung in midair instead of resting on the couch.

His pose radiated relaxed masculinity, and I could hardly bear to look at him. I polished off the sandwich in a few short bites, and the feeling of a full stomach contributed to a deeper sense of calm.

I could get through this.

"I'm just going to plunge in here..." I frowned at my unopened SOBE. "Of all the girls you had to choose from, why did you choose this Thea?" _Specifically, why didn't you choose me?_ cried my aching heart. I bit my lip. "What was it about her that made you decide on her?"

Angel shrugged almost carelessly and let his wings fall limp over the couch arm. "I don't think I decided on her - so much as she decided on me."

I hid my grimace behind a sigh. "That was my guess exactly. Doesn't that kind of concern you?"

"Kinda. You know what's funny about Thea though?" He looked at me with a lopsided grin. "I'm normally pretty scared of commitment and all that, but with her, I'm actually way more scared of NOT committing. She and her friends have made it pretty clear that I'm in deep trouble if I stray."

To my utter dismay, an incredulous laugh burst out of me. "That's perfectly horrid!" My shocked amusement became a scowl. "In my world, women don't behave in so mercenary a fashion." Save for perhaps women at court who wished to advance their royal status, but as Narnia had only been liberated from a tyrannical rule in recent decades, the houses of the rich were just being reestablished. Few were the daughters to be used as pawns at court - or to vie for the affections of our two kings.

Angel shrugged that off - to my great disappointment. I was hoofing a fine line between pretending not to care one way or the other, yet hinting at my true bruised feelings where he was concerned. And Angel couldn't see it.

"Well, I don't know if it's good or bad. I mean, I haven't cheated yet. And cheating is a good habit to break, right?"

"It is," I replied, "but there are many reasons not to cheat. This Thea is controlling, and I'm really nervous that once you establish a relationship with her, you won't be able to leave - both because of her and her circle of friends."

"It's not just her friends," said Angel, his glorious wings rising behind him as they stiffened with tension. "Her ex-boyfriend is in on it too." _She has an ex-boyfriend?!_ I cried inside, but I kept my face a mask of polite interest. "He is constantly telling everyone that he knows I'm going to break her heart, and that it's only a matter of time, et cetera, et cetera."

I grew steadily more and more alarmed at the tangled webs being woven around my beautiful friend. I shook my head and gave him a pleading look.

"Angel... goodness. I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going to urge you to PLEASE not even go there."

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch cushions while giving me one of his cover smiles. "Not go where, exactly?"

I hardly knew how to answer that. "Don't give in to her," I said finally.

Angel's smile was almost a grimace of pained embarrassment. "It gets worse... haha."

I offered a nervous smile in return. "I'm afraid to ask... so tell me."

But I wasn't prepared for what Angel said next.

"We already... you know." I didn't know, and that remark confused me. "And I didn't know that 'her people' don't really believe in the pill or anything like that, so it was totally unprotected. Now she's going around telling her friends she might be pregnant. I think it's a joke, but I'm like, oh God, that could really happen."

I understood then. I don't know whether I was more devastated at the news or horrified and distressed on Angel's behalf, and my gaze fell to the carpet. I just shook my head.

"By the mane, I was right about her."

Angel stared at me - as if for help. "Well, what am I supposed to do?"

_Break it off,_ I muttered inwardly. Instead I said glumly, "I'm thinking."

I wouldn't tell him to break it off. That was his own decision - not mine. This was his relationship; I had nothing to do with it. The only reason we were talking about it in the first place was because... I don't know why. Because I'd been most readily available, I suppose. Because he'd spoken with me about deep things before.

How I'd wished desperately for the opportunity to speak with Angel about deep, personal subjects. But this... This wasn't at all what I'd had in mind.

I needed to stay out of this matter. My own feelings were far too involved for me to put forth a drastic suggestion like that. I knew some of the details - certainly. And I wished I didn't know as much as I did. But there had to have been more I didn't know, and I couldn't offer advice based on half a story.

Still, it sounded like an awful predicament - and a trap.

"Gracious, Angel, why did you get yourself into such a mess?" I burst out.

He sighed and shrugged wearily, his blue eyes dull as he looked away. "I don't know. I think I'm too nice."

I nodded in silent agreement with that. He _was_ too nice. And hurt, and broken, and vulnerable to women like Thea. It was a very bad time for a relationship with a woman - _any_ woman, including myself. I didn't know how to tell him that.

"She must be very attractive," I put forth, trying not to sound anything like I felt.

Angel smiled. "As a matter of fact, she's an angel."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? With wings?"

"Yes. Bright pink feathers. Kind of stark, actually." He laughed.

I suddenly paled. It couldn't be. I sat forward on the couch and stared intently at Angel.

"What... what did you say her name was again?"

Confused by my change of demeanor, Angel shrugged. "I call her by her short name - Thea. But her real name is Amalthea."

_Oh Aslan._ Slowly I leaned back against the couch again, trying to process what I'd just learned. This angel... and Narnia's angel... was one and the same. Tannin had mentioned bright pink feathers. And then there was this Thea's circle of friends...

"Are you alright?"

Angel's concerned voice pulled me out of my reverie. "What?"

"You look very pale all of a sudden. Are you feeling well?"

I shook my head before I could catch myself. Suddenly I stood up.

"I'm... I'm very tired," I murmured quietly. "I had a long trip back, and it's late. Would you mind if we finished this conversation later?"

Angel rose slowly to his feet, and his feathers settled against his back in disappointment. "Of course, I understand. But... first..."

I looked at him. "Yes?"

"Tell me the truth, love. Do you know of her?"

I wished with all my heart that Angel wouldn't refer to me as "love". It hurt too much. It was a nickname I'd longed to be offered, in some shape or form, by my soulmate. I was looking into the blue eyes of my soulmate, and he'd called me love. And he was as distant as the stars.

"I do," I responded finally.

"What can you tell me, then? What troubles you?"

I shook my head and glanced away. "She... and her friends, I think... have been to Narnia recently."

I caught his smile from the corner of my eye. "I know."

My startled gaze came up and pinned him. "Do you know what they're doing in my world?"

"I don't know much," he answered, "but I am aware that they are affiliated with Jadis."

My chest tightened. This was not happening.

"And... do you know who she is?"

"Mhmm. They call her the White Witch. I believe your Aslan was and is her enemy."

Ice flooded my stomach. "And you know of the suffering Jadis caused during her hundred-year reign?"

"Yes, but those were the old days. Aslan won the big battle, and everyone should be able to just get along, right?"

I stared at him, my heart crumbling in my hands. "It doesn't work that way with Jadis and Aslan, Angel."

"Well, anyway, I'm not going to choose sides. I don't care who serves who." He yawned suddenly, then looked around. "What time is it? Oh, it's late. I have to go... I have to be up early." He whirled back to me. "I'm sorry, V. Can we finish this later?"

I nodded dumbly, staring at him. "Yes," I said without emotion. "Of course. I look forward to it."

I must not have sounded very convincing, because he suddenly came forward and clasped my hand. "How about tomorrow night, right here?"

I steeled my nerves against his touch, trying not to tremble or otherwise reveal my broken heart. "Sounds great," I managed.

"Good. I'll see you then. And bring food!"

I tried to smile. "Sure thing."

"It's a date." He flashed a dazzling grin at me. "Goodnight, Violar."

I inhaled deeply. "Goodnight..." I pursed my lips together in a tight smile and nodded without saying anything more.

Angel strode out of the room with casual, confident grace, and I sank to the couch and covered my face with both hands, trying to get my breathing under control and swallowing the lump out of my constricted throat. Suddenly I stood up.

I would not break down here.

That night, I did not return to Angel's room. I took a thick navy blue blanket from one of the linen closets and trudged off to the deserted chapel. The quiet solitude of the sanctuary was empty without Kurt's presence, and how I wished he were there. I desperately needed someone to talk to...

And I didn't want to talk with anyone at all. I dragged my blanket behind me as I wandered down the aisle, and I collapsed before the altar and poured out my sorrow in endless, wracking sobs and whole rivers of tears.

I'd lost my Angel. Or maybe I'd never had him to begin with...

"Aslan," I whispered into the empty air, shuddering with pain. "Aslan, where are you?"

A sweet scent brushed my nostrils. I felt the warmth of his presence before his golden fur appeared before my blurred vision. I dissolved further into tears and reached blindly for him. "Aslan..."

My fingers caught in his glorious mane, and then he was close to me.

"Shh, Zephina," he breathed.

But I wasn't listening, and the usual peace his warm breath brought could not touch my cold soul. "I lost him, Aslan," I cried. "I thought I did everything right... but it's all turned out... so wrong... I never had a chance. What did I do wrong? Why did this have to happen?"

My Danger Sense caught a deep pain inside of Aslan. He curled his large, warm body around me, and I felt his velvety muzzle against my shoulder. "Trust me, daughter," he answered quietly. "Only trust me."

"But I had him," I sobbed. "He was right there... in my arms... and I almost kissed him. I should have... right then... I never should have let him go..."

"And then you would have been second-guessing yourself ever after," responded the Great Lion wisely.

"But now he's... he's making a mistake... he's going to get hurt..."

"I am watching out for him, Zephina - even now."

I choked against his fur. "But it hurts... It hurts so much..."

"Shh," he whispered. "Just sleep. I love you, Zephina."

That was the last thing I remember from that night. To my astonishment, I did sleep. Pale golden light was streaming through the large picture window in the chapel when I woke up, curled into the navy blue blanket I'd dragged into the sanctuary.

It was morning - a beautiful morning. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, gripping the fabric between my hands while my hopes and dreams slipped through my fingers like dust. I reached up slowly and touched the feather woven into my hair, hidden within the thick locks. I hadn't taken it out since the day I'd asked Angel to give it to me.

And I wouldn't take it out, I decided. I loved him. Nothing changed that. Maybe, one day, he would understand...

Whatever Amalthea's alignment, Angel still had not chosen sides between Aslan and Jadis. What I was most concerned about was that he'd set himself up to crash and burn in love. Maybe Angel was right: It wouldn't last long.

I met Angel in the lounge that night - and every night afterwards. By the time a week had gone by, cracks appeared in the foundation. After a month, Angel and Thea were having brutal fights. And I could do nothing except listen, and comfort, and offer gentle advice - advice Angel rarely took, because he still believed that he could love Thea enough to change her. He wanted to rescue her. Angel's heart and soul were beautiful that way.

Deep down, I wanted that change as much as Angel. No, Angel hadn't chosen me, but if he had a wonderful lady by his side who could love him as much as he longed to love and be loved in return, then I could be happy for them. I could find a way to move on.

But that never happened. It got worse. Angel was trying to hold together a sinking ship, and he was going down with it, and I could only stand there and watch.

Day by day, little by little, I buried hurt - only to have it resurface somewhere else inside of me. It was becoming unbearable. I no longer slept in Angel's room, choosing instead to curl up in the empty chapel until they - whoever was in charge around Xavier's - could give me a room of my own.

Aslan came frequently, and he was gentle and encouraging and somber. But the well of words dried up within me until there were only tears left to cry.


	40. When It Rains

It was a lovely autumn day for gardening. And gardening, thought I, would be the perfect distraction for an aching heart.

I just wanted to forget.

With winter fast approaching in New York, I had to work fast to clip back the rosebushes and prepare them for colder weather. I had mulched them the day before - a difficult process that was, fortunately, aided by a wonderful one-wheeled contraption called a wheelbarrow. It was cleverly built like a small cart with a large metal container, and I piled it high with the straw I needed to pack around the rosebushes. It would protect the fragile roots from the freeze.

I could only operate the wheelbarrow while in my human form, because I was too tall as a centaur - and I ran the risk of banging my knees painfully against the metal cart. But the next day, while I trimmed the roses back to prevent frostbite on fragile branches, I was in my centaur form. I sensed a non-threatening presence behind me, and I tweaked an ear backwards at the same moment I heard a voice.

"I'm Matt Murdock, and you are?"

I glanced over my shoulder and found a dark-haired man with a red walking stick. His chiseled face was pleasant behind the shades he wore, his fine suit was pressed and well-tailored, and he held out his hand to me. I turned neatly on my four hooves and accepted it with a smile.

"Delighted," I responded, shaking his hand in the greeting I was still not entirely comfortable with. "I am called Violar, and I'm... a centaur, as you can see." I chuckled at my own words, swishing my white tail once against my golden coat. "So what brings you here?"

He smiled. He had a calm demeanor - too calm, I thought. He was more than he appeared to be.

"Well, one of the students here seems to have gotten into a little trouble with the law," he replied cordially. "The Professor and I are good friends, so he asked me to represent the student in court, seeing as how he's innocent. I only represent those who are, in fact, innocent."

As the implications of his words sank in, my smile wilted.

"That's not good. They don't like mutants around here." Frowning, I put down the shears I'd been using to prune the rosebushes and slowly removed my gardening gloves, though my thoughts were elsewhere. I knew a little about the justice system in New York, and I'd heard that mutants had unjustly received the short end of the stick on many occasions - simply on the merit of their race alone.

Finally I looked over at my visitor. "Do you know who will be giving him the trial? Are the judges mutants themselves, or do they sympathize with mutants at all? I... the thing I'm most concerned about is that the student receives a fair trial. It won't do at all to have a prejudiced judge."

"I haven't heard who the judge is yet, but rest assured, I'll certainly try my best. I wouldn't worry: Most of the judges know me, so they know when someone is really innocent..."

I relaxed somewhat. "It's a wonderful thing to attain and maintain a good reputation," I remarked, beginning to smile again. "I'm delighted to hear this. It would seem the student is in good hands."

But there was more to it than that. This Matt Murdock was so confident and self-assured - teetering on the edge of arrogance, I thought - that I narrowed my eyes slightly. He must have sensed the change in my mood, because he backed up and explained himself.

"You see... I'm blind, but my other senses make up for it. I can hear other people's heartbeats, so when they lie, I know. If the kid tells me he's innocent, and his heart rate never changes, I'll know he's telling me the truth."

I lifted my eyebrows and stared at him in surprise, then shook myself and averted my gaze to avoid coming off rude - before I realized he couldn't even _see_ me when I stared at him.

"Wow... well... that's amazing. I don't really know what to say. If you hadn't told me, it would have been much longer before I found out you were blind, good Murdock. You don't... act blind." Knowing my words sounded daft and at least partially offensive, I dropped my head and scuffed a hoof in the dirt. "Forgive me. It's just that... it just caught me by surprise, is all. But it would seem Aslan has blessed you in other ways which are truly remarkable."

Matt Murdock wasn't the least perturbed. "Well I may not be able to see you, but every time you make a sound, I can see what you would probably call shadows... So that's how I'm able to tell where I'm going..."

He held out his walking stick, and I immediately grew alert. He handled it like a weapon.

"This helps too."

My Danger Sense was silent, so I took him in with new appreciation.

"Like a bat, then? I've been reading about them recently and how they use 'echolocation' to 'see' in the dark. It's quite remarkable. So you really can see me, then?"

Curiosity got the best of me. I had to find out just how sensitive he really was. Touching my sapphire, my eight-foot-tall one-thousand-pound body shrank down to a much more manageable height of five feet and seven inches: A normal-looking girl in a peasant dress, which felt oddly out of place in my New York surroundings.

I said nothing at all, but watched his features carefully. In a moment he smiled.

"I suddenly feel taller..."

I burst into laughter and smoothed my white skirt out of habit.

"I just wish it were raining," he added wistfully.

"Why do you wish it were raining?" I wanted to know. "Are you thirsty or something? Because there is plenty of great water inside the mansion. You don't have to beg for rainclouds before you ask for hospitality."

I was jesting, of course, and Matt was sharp enough to realize it. He laughed with genuine amusement. Chuckling, I collected my gloves and shears and prepared to head inside, and Matt Murdock followed me.

"I doubt my guess about your sudden prayer for rain was the correct one, though." I studied my companion. "Enlighten me."

There was a subtle change in his face. "Because every time a raindrop hits a surface, it makes a sound... And if I'm outside while it's raining, it's almost like I can see again..."

I stopped in my tracks, consumed by the power of his words. To see... in a rainstorm... _because_ of a rainstorm! I closed my eyes, imagining a symphony of raindrops painting a picture in my mind - as if the colors in my Danger Sense had come to life and become a tangible sixth sense; guiding, revealing... feeling. Seeing.

I opened my eyes again and gazed at him in pure wonder, only to find him suddenly melancholy. He must have sensed my questioning look, because he said, "Sorry... Bad experience. Talking about the rain seems to bring it up..."

I only halfway acknowledged him with a nod. The idea of seeing in a rainstorm was so overwhelmingly beautiful that I swallowed hard. "I'll never look at storms the same way ever again," I murmured.

We resumed our trip into the mansion - and then to the kitchen.

Upon arrival, I threw open the refrigerator door and left it open to cool the room down. I retrieved a SOBE Black and Blue, my all-time favorite beverage, while I surveyed the various items on the shelves. My guest sat down at the table, and it was time for me to play hostess - which was completely thrilling. Those who lived at Xavier's had generously thrown open its welcoming gates to me; now that I had the chance to extend that same generosity to someone else, I was almost beside myself.

"Well, Matt, let's see here. We have any number of drinks to choose from and a delicious selection of food which I can prepare in a hurry. If you're in the mood for breakfast, there's eggs; if you'd rather go for something like pizza or... Oh! I found a box of peking pork." I leaned down to get a better look at the lower shelves. "And some cashew chicken, looks like. So, please place your order at this time," I said, adopting a canned waitress tone with a smile.

Matt laughed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll just have a root bear, if you have one. I'm not very hungry."

The phrase "I'm not very hungry" was so foreign to me - and to a number of the high-metabolism mutants - that I stopped and blinked at him before I caught myself. Chuckling warmly, I withdrew the requested beverage.

"One Barq's root beer, comin' up." I couldn't help imitating Logan's mannerisms sometimes. Leaving the refrigerator wide open, I took a seat opposite Matt and shoved the drink across the tabletop. "There you are. I hear that's the only sort of beer you can drink without any... adverse side effects."

Matt had an easy laugh, and I was grateful to hear it. Grinning, I twisted the cap off my SOBE and sipped at it. I was - I had to admit - a little tired from all the preparations to winterize the gardens, so I was glad of the excuse to take a break.

"So are you here now to visit the Professor, or is there another reason you dropped by?" I wondered conversationally.

Matt unhurriedly drank his root beer. "Well, I'm just here to meet with that student. Also, I haven't seen anyone from here in quite a while, so it'll be nice to see them again. I'm good friends with Scott Summers, one of the teachers here. We even get our sunglasses from the same place."

"Really!" I sat back and simply had to laugh. "I should have known, just on merit of those glasses alone. You know, I have only _seen_ Scott Summers around, but I have not yet had the chance to meet him. And I need to see him as soon as possible. The Professor referred me to him so I can begin training to join the X-Men, but I've been busy over the past few days and have not yet capitolized on that opportunity."

I fell silent for a moment, spinning my bottle absently over the tabletop. I _had_ been busy, but there were other reasons for my procrastination. I didn't like those reasons, either, but they persisted nonetheless.

And I certainly didn't want to talk about them.

Shaking those thoughts away, I took another little sip of SOBE. "So, you're a lawyer. Are you also one of the X-Men?"

He smiled innocently - too innocently. "Oh, no... I'm just a lawyer."

I let out a wry chuckle and leaned back in my chair, balancing the half-empty bottle precariously between my hands and watching Matt through narrowed gray eyes.

"That's not all you are, Matt Murdock."

My voice was low - like a challenge. And he took it as one.

"Now what makes you say that, Miss Violar?" He smiled again, easily - too easily - and leaned back to take another drink of root beer while I stared him down. Oddly enough, I could almost forget that he was blind. I never gave it a second thought: I treated him like someone who could see.

I shrugged. "I'm a centaur." I took a long drink of my SOBE and then set it aside, having lost interest in it. I gazed intently at Matt instead. "I may not be able to see your eyes and thus read the tales they tell, but there is more to you than being a simple lawyer. You radiate a similar... aura, if you will, to that of Logan Howlett."

I wondered if the name would have an effect on him. It did: He laughed.

"Logan Howlett? The Wolverine?" I got the impression that Matt had never been compared with Logan before, and I felt a strange thrill at catching this sharp lawyer off guard. "Ohhh no, we're not that much alike. He has... Well, issues, it seems."

I laughed at his careful way of speaking about someone he didn't exactly admire. Being a lawyer, I supposed, he had to be careful... like the centaurs of the Council did.

"Being a friend of Scott's, I wouldn't have expected you to say anything differently," I said, smiling warmly. "But there _are_ still similarities." I eyed him meaningfully. "I suppose it takes a fighter to know one when she meets one."

He laughed, then shrugged in an attempt to sidestep my pointed remark. "I may know a thing or two... I can take care of myself."

That was an understatement, and I was pretty certain he knew that I was aware of it. But I cleared my throat and retrieved my SOBE without pressing him further. I wasn't in the habit of making people talk about themselves when they clearly didn't want to - with rare exception, such as in the case of Angel. And I was not going down that road again. So I changed the subject.

"I've discovered the necessity to take care of oneself exists in every world and in every dimension." My own statement sobered me somewhat, but I continued regardless. "But you must also be careful whom you choose to trust and whom you choose to lie to. Both can be equally dangerous."

I meant it as a subtle threat. Whether Matt picked up on it or not, I wasn't certain. His expression never changed.

"I don't trust that many people..."

I nodded. "Neither do I."

He hesitated. There was something he'd wanted to tell me, and then he changed his mind. I hid my disappointment behind another sip of SOBE.

"So what else do you do around here, besides the gardening?"

I accepted the conversational diversion with alacrity. "A lot, actually. In Narnia, I'm a healer, and though my methods are somewhat... outdated by modern standards around here, I still find uses for my skills." I swallowed hard, remembering one particular incident centered around Angel and a gunshot wound to the wing. Which had been, of course, entirely my fault, so I couldn't feel too much that I was an indispensable necessity at Xavier's...

I didn't want to think about Angel. It just hurt.

"Other than that," I went on quickly, "I haunt the library and learn as much as I can about this culture through literature. I keep my skills with blade, fist and hoof sharp by frequent visits to the Danger Room. I've made a handful of friends here, and I've been grateful to 'hang out' with them, as they call it here. I am also attending the Professor's classes, and I wish to become one of the X-Men. I recently discovered that I carry the mutant gene, but my powers are as yet unclear."

He listened with interest. Despite what I'd said about trusting few people, I gave more details about my life than I ordinarily did. My Danger Sense told me it was alright.

"I see... Sounds like you have quite a life here," he said presently. "But do you mind if I ask: Where is Narnia?"

Chuckling, I finished off the last of my SOBE, replaced the lid, took careful aim at the trash can, and threw the empty glass bottle arching across the kitchen. It landed with a crash among the other garbage, though the glass was too thick to break. With a smile of satisfaction, I sat back and thought about his question.

And then I gave him a brief description of my world - and the creatures in it.

Matt's eyebrows were raised above his shades. He digested all that for a moment. "I see. So do you ever intend to go back?"

I gave a warm and somewhat wistful smile. "Not for a very long time, Master Murdock. Not now that I know the people I know and have found the family I found. It's kind of a long story," I said with a quick chuckle, "and since centaurs live for six hundred years, we have an affinity for long stories. But I won't bore you with the details."

"So to put a long story short, you've made a lot of friends here and plan to stay here for quite a while. Would that about cover it?"

I burst out laughing. "Yes! Yes, I suppose that's about it."

I was impressed. Leave it to a lawyer to summarize a complex life into a single sentence.

Matt chuckled. "When you spend as much time in courtrooms as I do, you tend to make it a point to make long stories as short as possible."

I flushed, but I was amused. I was exactly the opposite - to a fault. "Obviously, I haven't spent _any_ time in one. I was too busy hanging out with other centaurs... listening to long stories."

But he didn't seem the least bit put off by that. "I suppose I'm just used to it. But I have a feeling you have a lot of good stories to tell... So perhaps sometime you can tell me some..."

Laughing, I leaned forward and clasped my hands on the table.

"Be careful what you wish for, my friend," I warned lightly. "A lot of stories, yes: Good ones? Well, that is for the hearer to judge." Grinning, I fixed him with a gaze that was somehow both teasing and serious at once. "I'll be delighted to tell you stories whenever you wish - perhaps when the issue with this poor mutant kid is solved - but I've adopted something of an equal-trade policy about it. That means that I get to tell a story, but then you have to tell me one." I smiled. "It guarantees that the listener gets to sneak in a word edgewise."

Matt laughed appreciatively - but without genuine warmth. "I have some stories, not exactly happy ones though..."

I nodded, letting my amusement fade a little. Still, I smiled at him with a hint of sympathy.

"Everyone has tragic stories," I replied in a soft tone. "Why it has to be that way, I don't know... but it's true. At least not _all_ stories are unhappy ones, and that's one of Aslan's mercies." Impulsively I reached across the table and patted his hand. "If you feel like telling them, Master Murdock, you'll have a listener with a sympathetic ear, and one who is no stranger to tragedy and suffering herself. We survive, you know?" My smile warmed. "Those battle scars in the heart prove we are survivors."

Matt turned his head to one side, his expression grave. "I know exactly what you mean... You see, a while back, I met someone. She changed my life... But she found out a dark secret of mine, and it got her killed. I know she's out there somewhere, she has to be..."

I flinched and pulled my hand away from his momentarily... but then I gripped it more firmly. No wonder he wasn't keen on sharing.

"You don't think she's dead?" I questioned with great concern. "Because if that's true, if she's still out there, then... eventually you've got to find her. Surely she'll show up again."

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and he kept his face turned away. "I hope I do find her... She was the best thing to ever happen to me."

My heart twisted. I understood how he felt. But I smiled and squeezed his hand. "If she was the best thing that ever happened to you, then you _will_ find her again. Aslan sees to that."

I believed it wholeheartedly on his behalf. Our meeting came to an end, and Matt Murdock continued into the mansion to meet his client. I returned to the garden to finish preparations for winter.

I had been grateful for the diversion - for any and all distractions from the weight pressing against my heart. The garden was important to me, but keeping my own company allowed too many uninvited thoughts to intrude. And, like guests who don't know when they've outgrown their welcome, those thoughts lingered on until long after the party was over.

Finally the garden was prepared for the colder weather, but it took several days. I put away my gloves and tools in a small shed located on one side of Xavier's. I was just relaxing in the lounge with a SOBE Cranberry Grapefruit Elixir (I was well on my way to trying them all) when Matt Murdock walked in.

He paused at the doorway, listening. Then he smiled.

"Afternoon, Miss Violar."

"Master Murdock," I cordially greeted him with a smile. "How are the proceedings?"

"Alright," he answered, but there was clearly something else on his mind. Before I could question him about it, he asked, "You remember that woman I told you about?"

"Mm." I lowered my SOBE and nodded eagerly, then remembered that he couldn't see me. "Yes... How could I forget?" I chuckled, but cut myself short and gazed intently at him. He had news.

"Well... I found her. She came back to me last night."

My jaw dropped, and I brightened considerably. "Did she! Master Murdock, that's wonderful!" I hopped up from my easy chair, left my SOBE on the coffee table, and darted forward, seizing his hand in both of mine. "I _told_ you she would. I _knew_ she would!" I broke off laughing for sheer joy on his behalf.

"Centaurs are always right, I suppose," replied Matt Murdock, chuckling.

My laughter turned to embarrassment. "At least... _most_ of the time..." Abruptly I clapped a hand over my mouth in a vain attempt to smother my chuckles. "I'm beginning to sound like Angel."

The very mention of his name was enough to sober me, and I stopped laughing and grew more serious. But I smiled at Matt and changed the subject. "Seems like you were right about her also, Master Murdock. She's not dead. And whatever your dark secret is seems to have lost its sting where she is concerned, if it cannot kill her and keep her dead."

Matt endured my outburst with a calm, semi-distracted air. "Well she's a very amazing woman... I've never felt the way I do about anyone else but her..."

That warmed me to the core - to hear him speak of a lady that way. It reminded me keenly of my own parents. Perhaps too keenly.

"I couldn't be happier for you, Master Murdock," I said, my smile reflected in my voice. "I could wish you no greater joy than true love."

He clasped my hands, which were still holding his. "Thank you, Violar... and I mean that, thank you."

I wished then that he could see the look in my eyes, but perhaps the sound of my voice - and what other sharpened senses he'd gained in his sightless years - conveyed enough. I pressed his hand fervently, then released it.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, needing a reason to excuse myself before my genuine happiness on his behalf could turn to melancholy in his presence. I did not wish to taint such a joyful occasion with the burden in my own heart.

"This has been... absolutely wonderful, and if you need anything, _anything_ at all, I implore you to let me know. I'll be around here somewhere. I visit the kitchen on a regular basis because centaurs are always hungry," I explained, my tone serious. "If you want to talk about anything, I'll be more than happy... far more than happy... to accommodate you. But for now, I have a few things to take care of, and I imagine you probably wish to speak with the mutant you're representing - as well as your lady love." I smiled softly. "Such things of great importance have been put off long enough already by the irreparable rifts of time and space and fate. It is well, then, that Aslan allows love to last forever, because even forever is hardly long enough."

Matt nodded, then reached down and caught my hand. He pressed a friendly kiss to the back of it - a familiar gesture that reminded me of Narnia. It was ordinary courtesy in my world, but it had been too long since anyone kissed my hand in America. In fact, now that I thought about it, _no one_ had kissed my hand. I rather missed it.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," the lawyer said. "I hope to see you around... I mean... well, you know what I mean."

I gave his hand a grateful squeeze. "The pleasure was mutual," I assured him. "And I will see you too... when it rains."

Smiling again, I withdrew my hand and deliberately touched my choker, shifting into my larger palomino centaur form. My tail whisked back and forth as I trotted from the room.


	41. Socrates

It was a cold, rainy October afternoon that kept me - and all the other mutants - indoors when I met Alisha in one of my favorite mansion haunts: The library.

She's a new mutant around here - one of many. Angel wasn't kidding when he said the mansion was filling up, and new mutants seem to be coming out of the very woodwork. Being new myself, I haven't had the privilege of meeting many of them yet. But as time has gone on, more and more of the mansion has become my territory as I explore it, and I've made some passing acquaintances. This meeting was particularly memorable because I found the redheaded girl scowling, immersed in some enormous tome.

I bent my head to peer over her shoulder and read the book headline. "Who's Sock-rates? A sock merchant, perhaps?" I asked.

Her head whipped around and she regarded me with a puzzled green-eyed stare. "You mean Socrates?"

"Oh, if that's how you say his name, then yes."

"A Greek philosopher." She wrinkled her nose in clear distaste. "Socrates had some very odd ideas."

"Having trouble keeping up with him?" I gave her a friendly smile and pulled up a chair. This was the nice thing about running around in my human form: I fit in with the other mansion occupants. I sat down across from her and fixed her with a gaze of great interest.

She nodded unhappily. "I'm afraid so. And I'm supposed to write a paper on him too, for class. But I don't think I can do it. I just... I don't understand him. He is like SO way out there."

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "Do I ever know that feeling."

"Who are you?" she wondered, her book momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," I apologized. "I am called Violar. I'm actually a centaur from the land of Narnia." I bowed my head to her out of habit.

A smile brightened her face. She was actually quite pretty. "Really? I'm Alisha. I've always liked centaurs, but I've never met one."

"Thank you. But centaurs are raised on this stuff." I motioned towards her book.

She gave me a look of utmost sympathy. "That's terrible."

I tossed back my head and laughed freely. That was a first - someone was actually pitying me for the studies every centaur considered normal! "It's not as bad as you think," I told her when I could speak again. "Centaurs try to gain as much wisdom as they possibly can. It's our first and foremost goal in life."

"My teachers are trying to make it my goal too," she muttered, a shade darkly. "Thus, I get to study Socrates."

I shrugged. "Perhaps it would help if you had a study partner," I said impulsively. When she gave me a questioning look, I added quickly, "I'll do what I can, but I haven't read Socrates before. In fact I haven't heard of him before now. Socrates' works didn't make it to the Council Ring."

Slowly, Alisha grinned. "Maybe that proves he wasn't so wise after all."

I bit back a smile of my own. "Or else Greece was just too far away, and both he and we were too busy chasing our own wisdom to swap philosophies." We laughed, and then I jerked my chin towards the huge book. "Go ahead and read me some of it."

Alisha spared me a pained grimace, then flipped to page one: She wasn't too far into the book anyways. Stumbling over the large words, she ran her finger beneath each line and read:

_Entitled, "Lysis." or "Friendship."_

_Persons of the dialogue: Socrates (narrator), Hippothales, Menexenus, Lysis._

_Scene: A newly erected Palaestra outside the walls of Athens._

_I was going from the Academy straight to the Lyceum, intending to take the outer road, which is close under the wall. When I came to the postern gate of the city, which is by the fountain of Panops, I fell in with Hippothales, the son if Hieronymus, and Ctesippus the Paeanian, and a company of young men who were standing with them. Hippothales, seeing me approach, asked whence I came and whither I was going._

"By the mane!" I exclaimed, utterly amazed. I stared at the book with wide eyes. "No wonder you can't decipher that gibberish!"

Alisha burst into laughter. I suppose it felt good to have a sympathizer, but my thoughts were on a different plane altogether: This was supposed to be a wise man who wrote this, and I could hardly understand him. Were centaurs truly that far behind modern wisdom in this world? It was a highly unsettling thought.

Oblivious to my discomfort, Alisha just shook her head. "Yes, deciphering it is one thing. Then try remembering it. And writing a report about it."

My eyes lit with a sudden idea. I snapped my fingers. "Wait, wait a second. Read that again."

Hesitantly, she did. I sat, frowning; mulling over her words. Then I began, in the same tone as the book:

_And I replied: "To escape from you and all your super fancy names, which I, whoever I am, cannot keep up with!" And I went running down the road, sandals slapping against my feet, and left them in a cloud of dust._

Alisha squealed with laughter and rocked in her seat, slapping her hand over the page in her merriment. I chuckled, grinning with delight. Maybe, together, we could get through this after all.

"Read me more," I bid. With considerable enthusiasm, Alisha did.

_I am going, I replied, from the Academy straight to the Lyceum._

_Then come straight to us, he said, and put in here; you may as well._

_Who are you, I said; and where am I to come?_

_He showed me an enclosed space and an open door over against the wall. And there, he said, is the building at which we all meet: and a goodly company we are._

_And what is this building, I asked; and what sort of entertainment have you?_

_The building, he replied, is a newly erected Palaestra; and the entertainment is generally conversation, to which you are welcome._

_Thank you, I said; and is there any teacher there?_

_Yes, he said, your old friend and admirer, Miccus._

_Indeed, I replied; he is a very eminent professor._

_Are you disposed, he said, to go with me and see them?_

I rubbed my chin for a moment, then answered:

_No, said I; I cannot take much more of his so-called words of wisdom. But do not tell him I said that._

_To which he displayed an expression upon his youthful continence that was most distressed, and he tapped me upon the shoulder, and when I looked upon him with unspoken questions upon my lips, he pointed behind me. And there I found the venerable professor Miccus himself, standing there and beholding me with some distaste. I affected a polite yet somewhat sheepish grin._

_Ho, to-day, said I, I shall tell no more jokes._

_That is wise, put in venerable Miccus, adjusting his robe._

Alisha was lost in great gales of laughter. Grinning sheepishly, I glanced around the otherwise quiet library. I received a sullen glare from a teenage boy sitting at a table in the corner, pencil poised over a sheet of paper and three open books before him. Four or five other mutants were also looking at me with varying degrees of annoyance. I affected a halfhearted wave that was supposed to convey my sincerest apologies for disturbing their concentration before I turned back to Alisha.

Alisha's face was alight with excitement. With no further prodding at all, she delved in for another chunk of Socrates:

_Yes, I said; but I should like to know first, what is expected of me, and who is the favourite among you?_

_Some persons have one favourite, Socrates, and some another, he said._

_And who is yours? I asked: tell me that, Hippothales._

_At this he blushed; and I said to him, O Hippothales, thou son of Hieronymus! do not say that you are, or that you are not, in love; the confession is too late; for I see that you are not only in love, but are already far gone in your love. Simple and foolish as I am, the gods have given me power of understanding affections of this kind._

_Whereupon he blushed more and more._

She broke off and stared meaningfully at me. My turn. Clearing my throat, I began:

_A blush, said he, is easy to read; yet how can you be certain it is not sunburn from standing too long in the middle of this road, beneath the beating of the Grecian sun?_

_Ah, said I, then perhaps it is that you have fallen in love with the sun._

_Nay, I am not a flower, declared he, a frown falling upon his young brow._

_Indeed I should hope not, I replied, for then your admirer might be a bee._

This time, Alisha wasn't the only one chuckling. I swept the library with a glance again and discovered that we held everyone's attention, and there was no longer disapproval in their eyes: Only rapt fascination. Seeing that whatever homework projects they were working on were now lost causes, I gave up and beckoned them over.

I didn't have to ask twice. All five teenagers hopped up, seized chairs, and dragged them over to our table. Alisha swept a lock of wavy red hair behind her ear, obviously a little nervous around strangers, but she turned her attention back to the book and looked to pick up where she left off.

_Ctesippus said: I like to see you blushing, Hippothales, and hesitating to tell Socrates the name; when, if he were with you but for a very short time, you would have plagued him to death by talking about nothing else. Indeed, Socrates, he has literally deafened us, and stopped our ears with the praises of Lysis; and, if he is a little intoxicated, there is every likelihood that we may have our sleep murdered with a cry of Lysis. His performances in prose are bad enough, but nothing at all in comparison with his verse; and when he drenches us with his poems and other compositions, it is really too bad; and worse still in his manner of singing them to his love; he has a voice which is truly appaling, and we cannot help hearing him: and now, having a question put to him by you, behold he is blushing._

All eyes were on me as I composed a hasty response.

_Hippothales turned to Ctesippus and said: By your very words I am stung; for you have artfully trounced my feelings in the dust of this road._

_Ah, said I, it seems you have found a bee after all._

The laughter that erupted from our table could surely have been heard through the whole mansion. I laughed with them, suddenly enjoying this Socrates fellow. Whether or not he was truly amusing, the company was, and Socrates had brought us all together this afternoon.

"Now... now," choked Alisha, endeavoring to pull herself together and stop laughing, "do you know who this Lysis is?"

What a silly question! "A girl?" I vouchsafed. That sent everyone into muffled giggles. I attributed this to the humorous mood in the room and continued on with a glint in my eyes: "An amusing girl with a perpetual smirk and flowers in her hair, and a buzzing halo made of bumblebees?"

The explosion of laughter nearly made the books pop off the Professor's shelves. I giggled along with them, though I didn't know half of what was so funny until Alisha forced herself to go on, frequently interrupted by her own chortles (which she tried hopelessly to stifle):

_But tell me whose son he is, I said._

_He is the eldest son of Democrates, of the deme of Aexone._

_Ah, Hippothales, I said; what a noble and really perfect love you have found! I wish that you would favour me with the exhibition which you have been making to the rest of the company, and then I shall be able to judge whether you know what a lover ought to say about his love, either to the youth himself, or to others._

_Nay, Socrates, he said; you surely do not attach any importance to what he is saying._

I tapped my fingers on the tabletop, my mouth quirked in annoyance. "Some wise man," I said of Socrates, but I had the perfect reply:

_Tis true he is foolisher than I, said I, yet he cannot help it. Thus, love him if you must._

_I must, said he in all the earnest of his youth._

_Truly, there are worse loves to be had, said I, for bees eventually sting._

_Has any love yet been found that is free of the sting? Questioned he of me._

_Perhaps, I answered thoughtfully, pulling at the collar of my robe. 'Twould be found in half a bee._

Our audience was in stitches. The pounding rain against the windowpane was drowned out and replaced by warm laughter. I was swept in right along with them. And so began a rapidfire volley between Alisha and myself - or perhaps more accurately myself and Socrates.

_Do you mean, I said, that you disown the love of the person whom he says that you love?_

_No; but I deny that I make verses or address compositions to him._

_He is not in his right mind, said Ctesippus; he is talking nonsense, and is stark mad._

_O Hippothales, I said, if you have ever made any verses or songs in honour of your favourite, I do not want to hear them; but I want to know the purport of them, that I may be able to judge of your mode of approaching your fair one._

_Ctesippus will be able to tell you, he said; for if, as he avers, the sound of my words is always dinning in his ears, he must have a very accurate knowledge and recollection of them._

Quirking an eyebrow, I impersonated Socrates' response:

_Yet perhaps his perception has been unfairly colored against you, said I._

_It is his perception, and it is to him as he sees the world: Through broken glass, replied the offended youth; yet there is nothing that can be done about it._

_How easily you give up, said I; I hope that your love is not so unfortunate._

_I do not pursue the impossible, said he, put on the defensive._

_At that I regarded him long. Is it impossible, queried I, to shoo the bee from his ear?_

_It may well be, replied Hippothales, for his ears are stuffed with flowers._

_Ctesippus fumed._

I imagined the _real_ Socrates folding his arms in grave disapproval of my mischief in his name, but I would have given him an innocent smile. Socrates - through Alisha - went on.

_Yes, indeed, said Ctesippus; I know only too well; and very ridiculous the tale is: for although he is a lover, and very devotedly in love, he has nothing particular to talk about to his beloved which a child might not say. Now is not that ridiculous? He can only speak of the wealth of Democrates, which the whole city celebrates, and grandfather Lysis, and the other ancestors of the youth, and their stud of horses, and their victory at the Pythian games, and at the Isthmus, and at Nemea with four horses and single horses--these are the tales which he composes and repeats. And there is greater twaddle still. Only the day before yesterday he made a poem in which he described the entertainment of Heracles, who was a connexion of the family, setting forth how in virtue of this relationship he was hospitably received by an ancestor of Lysis; this ancestor was himself begotten of Zeus by the daughter of the founder of the deme. And these are the sort of old wives' tales which he sings and recites to us, and we are obliged to listen to him._

I started laughing before my thought processes finished their cycles. My response was instantaneous.

_Hippothales rounded on him, and I watched the ensuing argument with a certain amount of amusement._

_Your mind is like a lumber room, quoth Hippothales; and your tongue like a great log._

_If that is your idea of poetry and song, replied Ctesippus, you may yet win your love's heart._

_It is this mentality which has yet sent all your own pursuits running for the hills of Jerusalem, be they wise men or fair women, retorted the injured Hippothales; for your appreciation of art is notably barbaric._

_Art and the delivery of art are two differing things, said Ctesippus in his turn, and it is for the latter which you are well known, and your namesake is most worthy._

_Hippothales glared: Don't call me Hippopotamus._

That was the last straw. We laughed so loud and hard that one of the teachers - whose name I do not yet know - came running in to check on us and found her class in shambles. Wiping tears from my eyes, I tried my best to apologize, but she waved me away and sent everyone back to work. Alisha shut the book of Socrates - I noticed she treated the tome with new respect - and grabbed my hand, and she pulled me out of the library.

"What about your report on Socrates?" I cried, half-running down the hallway to keep up with her.

"Socrates can wait," she said with unusual confidence - or so I sensed it was with her. "I can follow him now, thanks to you. But I need to recover first. And I want to show you something."

I trailed after her and found that, when she rushed a little ahead of me, her arm extended to impossible proportions and her hand remained firmly clasped in mine. I wondered at this strange phenomenon, but I didn't ask her about it until we reached her room.

As it turns out, that remarkable stretchiness was due to Alisha's mutation, which earned her the nickname Elastica.

"I don't see the connection," I said with no little puzzlement. "What's so significant about 'Elastica'?"

She bounded over to the closet, her wild confusion of red hair flying after her. She'd been waiting for me to ask that very question. She began pulling out various costumes in a variety of styles and colors - all of them very beautiful and skillfully put together - and hung them on the doorframe ledge so I could admire them all. It was then that I was introduced to the substance known as elastic. Amazing stuff, that. American outfits usually have elastic in them somewhere. It was extremely common.

"I designed these," Alisha said, watching my reaction with undisguised excitement. "I like your costume too, by the way. Did you make it?"

I looked down at my white peasant dress with reddish leather lacings and laughed. "It's not a costume, Alisha. Where I come from, this is proper attire for the common ladies."

Alisha studied me thoughtfully. "Common ladies?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't you rather be dressed as... as a princess?"

"What for? I'm not one."

Alisha gave a rippling laugh. "Yes, but you could _pretend_ to be."

"Why?"

Alisha laughed at me again, but I was genuinely puzzled. Why would one want to be a princess, anyway? Princesses had to live their entire lives locked away in castles, and I think I would develop a severe case of insanity if I suddenly found myself having to live that life. They also found themselves the targets of kidnappers in all the great tales, or else they might end up pawns to marry off to some prince or king of a foreign country to secure a peace treaty or favorable relations between two kingdoms. No - I'd never been one for princess envy.

But I was not immune to Alisha's excitement. "I have just the dress for you," she proclaimed, running over to the closet again. Despite myself, I caught my breath as she drew forth from the dark depths a stunning gown of olive green covered over by some kind of filmy black material. It was gorgeous.

"Ooh," I breathed, running my fingers over it. The silk whispered delicately beneath my fingertips and the velvet was impossibly soft. I lifted my eyes to Alisha. "You made this one too?"

She nodded eagerly. "I want you to have it."

"I... I... does it fit?" I couldn't believe she was going to give me this stunning gown.

"It will, when I've altered it," declared Alisha. "Which will only take me a minute or two, after I've measured you." She plucked a tape measure off her dresser and motioned me to my feet.

Reluctantly I submitted to her wishes, my mind still whirling while Alisha whipped expertly around me, taking measurements like mad. "I'll be glad to pay you whatever you ask for it," I said at length. "Though all I have is Narnian coin, and I doubt it would be very valuable here."

"Oh, nonsense!" She came out from behind me and grinned. "Just help me with my Socrates and we'll call it even."

An hour or so later, I left her room, holding in tow that lovely gown by the hanger. I felt very warm inside and I was suddenly very thankful for the rain, which had allowed me to meet several of the mutants, a new friend... and that wonderously addled Greek philosopher, Socrates.


	42. Queen Arachnia

When the mansion becomes too safe, I leave it behind and live life on the edge. This wasn't the first time I'd gone into New York City. Always I plan my trips to coincide with darkness so that I'm not readily visible. Sometimes I even dare to venture out as a centaur. But I wasn't in too terrible of a mood on this night, and I settled for blending in with the rest of New York society and went out as a human.

A mutant, actually. Because that's what I am, now. Long story. I'll tell you about it another time.

I'd never heard of Halloween before and honestly I don't like it: Why should anyone celebrate a holiday for _the other side?_ It seems utter foolishness. Doesn't anyone realize how _dangerous_ that is?! Far better to feast and give candy and dress up on a day set aside for Aslan's glory. So I made a slight compromise: I decided not to go out on Halloween itself, but I did want to have a little fun on a day not dedicated to witches and other creepy sorts.

For the sake of secrecy, I adopted a costume a remarkably stretchable mutant by the name of Alisha, codename Elastica, made up for me. One of Alisha's hobbies seems to be costuming on a regular basis, and...

It was all her idea. I don't like spiders, but I had to admit this piece was sheer genius: The sleek, slim-styled, regal gown was made all of brown scaly material accented with stiff black lace and tiny black pearls, curled black feathers on the shoulders and long split sleeves; and the stiff, wicked collar _looked_ like a spiderweb. There was an arrogant hole in the neckline that I still found modest enough even for my tastes. The moment I slipped it on, I _felt_ positively evil. I drew myself up taller and lifted my chin to a haughty angle and surveyed my newly acquired realm. Upon emerging from the bathroom to show off my outfit, Alisha looked up curiously at me.

I curled my lip at the redhead, planting a hand on one hip and affecting an elegant pose. "What are you looking at?" I snapped in a smooth tone like cold oil.

For a moment she stared at me in stunned silence, then she cautiously smiled. "So, do... do you like it?"

Very suddenly I tossed my head. "Ahahahaa!" I laughed out scornfully. "You fool!" I flicked my long fingers disdainfully in her direction and gave her a cold shoulder. "I do not _like_ it. It is utterly perfect."

Her stunned silence made giddy butterflies rise in my stomach. My facade was beginning to crack. Whirling, I gave her a sly grin, and burst into real laughter at her shocked expression. It was priceless! Tonight was going to be too much fun.

Once Alisha got over her surprise at my change in demeanor, she was all eagerness to put on the finishing touches, which included black lipstick, black eyeshadow, black nails, and piling my dark hair atop my head and pinning it there with a large metal spider clip: A brilliant addition to complete my spidery persona. I checked my reflection in the mirror. I looked devastatingly frightening.

"I pity the fool who crosses me," I practiced in a chilling tone.

Alisha laughed. "So do I!"

Lastly I belted a smooth black-handled dagger at my waist, since I don't like to go anywhere unarmed. I thanked Alisha profusely for all her help before departing into a dark New York night.

The high heels that went with the outfit MUST have been made by neevils from Ettinsmoor: Only _they_ could dream up such positively torturous devices and call them shoes. They were absolute murder to walk in. Yet I had to admit they made me taller and more imposing; after awhile I decided the intimidation factor was well worth the suffering. Which didn't mean I was going to make a habit of wearing those shoes, however. If this was what one had to endure in order to live the life of an evil queen, forget it. You didn't have to dissuade me any further. Let me serve Aslan and run around in soft leather boots, or else my four plain hooves, and I would a happy centaur.

Alisha had given me a little money for a taxi, and I was glad of it, now. It would have been really quite dreadful to traipse all the way to New York City in that masochistic footwear, and I probably would have lost my mobility completely. I hailed the first yellow taxi I came across and slid smoothly into the backseat: Thanks to Tessa, cars were no longer such a mystery to me. Again, long story.

"Downtown, if you please."

The driver kept checking his rear view mirror. Perhaps my costume shocked him. _Ah well,_ thought I, _he may be my first victim, but alas, he will not be my last._ Even my mode of thinking had changed. When he glanced at me again, I gave him a freezing cold smile. There was a slight shocked widening of his eyes before he suddenly became very intent on navigating the road. He did not look at me again, not even when he drew to a stop and I slipped a few dollar bills over his shoulder and thanked him with all the grand hauteur I possessed.

I stepped onto the sidewalk - into another world, it almost seemed, lit bright as day by flashing lights and signs and colored neon, bursting with noise and bustle, and the taxi left me there alone. New York is the busiest city I have ever seen by far, and I wonder if these crazy people ever sleep: They seemed to be having just as good a time late tonight as anyone would during normal daylight hours. And if I weren't mistaken, a good portion of the masses seemed at least mildly intoxicated.

A couple passed by me, laughing and swaying slightly as they made their way down the sidewalk; the young man's arm was draped too familiarly over the slim shoulders of his pretty blonde female companion. He glanced up and did a double take, paling when he saw me, and his laughter came to an abrupt end.

I got countless such reactions that night, but I quickly got used to it. I felt like everyone was staring at me. But I was not the only one in costume: Though it was a little early for Halloween, it didn't stop a mind-boggling menagerie of ghouls and princesses and ogres and long-fanged wolfmen and caped superheroes and patch-eyed pirates and lightsaber-toting Jedi from congesting the sidewalks, the stores, and the restaurants. (Yes, I know what Jedi are now. It's an American thing: Another very long story.) There was also a fellow dressed as an angel, and I eyed him critically. _Lousy costume,_ I thought, looking him up and down. The robe wasn't bad, being white and gold, but the wings were misshapen, too small to have supported real flight, and fixed too low on his back. It was pretty sorry - so sorry, in fact, that I didn't take time to speak with him about it. Angel made the best angel anyway.

I set about the business of mingling, trying to ignore my throbbing feet. Being an evil queen was getting less appealing by the minute. But I had made up my mind to enjoy my foray and whatever adventures it might bring, and being the stubborn centaur I am, aching feet weren't enough to stop me.

I paused outside a bar to listen to the live jazz band playing. They weren't too terrible; or perhaps my musical standards are being steadily lowered by constant exposure to Jay... I don't know. A fellow clad in a black suit, a black cape, and a vaguely skull-like black helmet with a breathing mask had also stopped briefly to enjoy the performance, and after awhile he noticed me. For my part, I was struggling to rely on my danger sense, which was remarkably silent despite his ominous breathing - which sounded as if he had a very serious lung condition. That strange mask amplified and distorted each inhale and exhale with dark, hideous overtones.

We became aware that we were watching each other at precisely the same moment and turned suddenly away, instantly self-conscious. He cleared his throat. I smoothed my dress. We sneaked glances at each other again and whipped away a second time, then clapped politely when the song ended, pretending not to have noticed. I was wondering if he found this act as amusing as I did. Because that's all it was: An act. We both knew it.

He abandoned the act first.

"Hello," he said finally. I felt the color drain from my face. He had the deepest, darkest voice I've ever heard in my life: Also due to the mask, I assumed. It was downright scary.

"Hello yourself," I retorted coldly as per my chosen disguise, regarding him with a grimly neutral expression.

There was a hitch in his steady breathing rhythm. "Wow." Another loud whoosh of air left the mask. Then he raised a black-gloved hand at me. "Wait here." With a swirl of his cape and no further explanation, he stalked hurriedly off and disappeared into a nearby building that wasn't nearly so well-lit as the rest on that street.

I tapped my toe impatiently against the concrete, but did as he said. The curious part of me kept me there against my better judgment.

A moment later he was back, followed by an oddly mixed assortment of characters: A lean fellow in a suit of green with matching green hose and a green feathered cap, toting a bow in an awkward position that told me he had absolutely no idea what to do with it; a pirate with a hook instead of a right hand; a beautiful pointy-eared woman in a white dress with flared sleeves; three young men - I assumed they must be triplets since they were nearly identical - in matching blue capes emblazoned with white crosses; a man with surprisingly noble features in faded nobleman's clothing; and someone in a sorry-looking lion outfit with black whiskers painted directly on his face.

The one person who stood out against this group of misfits was, oddly enough, the one fellow who was _not_ in costume. He had on a faded shirt that might have once been rather nice, and half of it was untucked; his black leather jacket and mussed reddish hair further added to his unkempt, trampish look. His eyes widened beneath his reading glasses when he saw me.

"Whoa, DUDE!" He gave an incredibly boyish impression of shocked delight, running a hand over his short hair. "Whoa, man, I got an idea now. Jack, you like totally rock. I gotta get busy now. Bring her in and show her around, 'kay?"

And with that he was gone. I was still trying to figure out half of what he said when I suddenly found myself surrounded by the costumed party.

"Nice to meet you!" bubbled the one girl in the crew. "My real name is Laurie, but you can call me Arwen too, if you like."

"And I'm King Arthur," put in the nobleman.

"Athos, Porthos and Aramis, at your service!" The triplets whipped off their plumed hats, pointed a toe, and swept me a bow. Simultaneously.

"Robin Hood!" The green-clad youth danced lightly up to me like a merry popinjay and grinned.

The pirate flashed a brilliant white smile. "Captain Hook," he told me in suave tones, holding up his right appendage - which ended in the hook. "Easy name to remember. Hahaha."

Bewildered, I fixed an almost desperate gaze on the one face I thought I recognized. "Aslan?"

The lion laughed. "No no. I'm the cowardly lion."

Instantly enraged, I glared at him. "Blasphemy! How dare you?! The Great Lion is _not_ a coward!"

This sent the entire company into fits of laughter. They didn't take me seriously at all. "Well he won't be a cowardly lion anymore when we get to the end of the play," supplied Robin Hood.

"How do you know that?" I demanded.

The black-helmeted man who'd recruited me just chuckled darkly. "You'll see."

Arwen grabbed me by the hand and tugged me into the building, and I reluctantly followed. The whole group accompanied us. Mentally I was in a turmoil: I was still trying to remember who was who, exactly. I eyed Captain Hook's "hand".

"Are you all mutants?" I queried. I'd momentarily forgotten that the word _mutant_ in common society was highly akin to an obscenity - in fact, far less accepted than one - but I was quickly reminded by the dark glowers of disgust that were suddenly directed my way. Remaining in character, I gave a thin-lipped cursory smile. "A joke," I offered primly.

"It was in poor taste," said the king.

Thinking quickly, I smirked. "The _only_ jokes an evil queen makes are in poor taste."

For a moment, there was silence. Then they all erupted in laughter, much to my tremendous relief.

The darkened building was an old theater. The musty place smelled of popcorn and old fabric, and thin strips of lighting illuminated the red-carpeted steps. We found the crazy genius of a fellow already there, sitting on an ancient stage that looked ready to fall apart at any time. Papers were scattered around him and a pencil was tucked behind an ear. He glanced up when we came in and adjusted his spectacles.

"Ah good. You get to be Queen Arachnia, by the way. This is gonna be so great." I realized he was talking to me. Then he turned his full attention back to his myriad of papers and seemed to put my existence out of his mind.

"Who is he?" I whispered aside to Arwen.

"Him? Oh that's Greg." She laughed. "His head's always in a higher orbit. Don't worry, he'll come back to Earth soon enough."

I spent the remainder of the evening sitting in those interesting foldable chairs and chatting amiably with these folks, who were all - mostly - college kids. All of them were witty and personable, and after awhile I relaxed enough to share in their camaraderie. It shocked them to discover I knew nothing at all about their alter egos, so they amused themselves by each filling me in, individually, on who they were and what their histories were. When they were finished with their summaries, I decided I liked the tale of Robin Hood the best - but I kept that bit of information to myself to avoid hurting feelings. Captain Hook's especially. Captain Hook was marvelously brash, but I was certain that, beneath that fascinating facade, he was actually more emotional than anyone guessed.

"Alright-tay, dudes and dudesses, I got it all figured out. Oh yeah." Greg came up on our circle, holding a sheaf of papers and removing the pencil from between his teeth. "I'm gonna go make copies of this. You're all up in five minutes. Back in a flash."

True to his word, he was. He passed out scripts to each of us, and Arwen showed me how to highlight my lines with a yellow Marks-A-Lot. It was then that the irony of the whole charade hit me: I had been drafted into this drama group, and they hadn't even asked me if I were willing to participate! Not officially. They had just literally plucked me off the street and there I was, being asked to fill the role of the main villain.

The story was surprisingly amusing. Greg, for such an absent-minded fellow, really was a mad genius. The first two runs through the rehearsal, it was all I could do not to laugh.

For three hours, we went through the play again and again. Greg demanded perfection, and all of us strove to live up to his expectations. He was the undisputed leader. Because of that, we could even put up with his eccentric behavior and stinging remarks. He was always running around, gesturing wildly with his pencil.

"What'sa matter, Arwen, is Robin stepping on your pretty little feet? Because your expression makes it look as if you're in pain, not in love! Let's see a starry smile! Think rainbows and butterflies here, not death by dancing!" And, "Lord Vader, breathe _louder_. You're supposed to be an ominous presence, not a lullaby for the audience." And then to me: "Arachnia! Don't you go all soft on me. You're trying to stamp out love and conquer the world. You forget that for one second, and you've lost all our faith in you. Think cruel and heartless thoughts. Come on, people!" He clapped his hands and strode from one end of the stage to the other. "We've got to get this _right!_ I'll disown you tomorrow if you don't. No, I won't let you leave this _stage_ until I have you all reciting thank-you speeches for the Academy Awards. I'll keep you up all night if I have to. I know you dudes have it in you. Now run through it again!"

Greg ran us through drill after drill while I tried to think cruel and heartless thoughts. By the time the kid was marginally satisfied with our performance, my feet were numb with pain. I hobbled to the side of the stage and sat down, dangling my legs over the edge; moaning softly as I removed first one awful high heel, then the other. I tried to wiggle my toes. There was no feeling in them at all.

A small hand settled on my shoulder, and I looked up to find the green eyes of Arwen smiling at me. "I'm really glad you're here," she murmured with great feeling.

Greg's mantra echoed in my mind: _Think cruel and heartless thoughts._ I gave her the most syrupy smile I possessed and narrowed my chilling gray eyes. Then I broke into mad laughter. "AH-hahahaha! You won't be tomorrow, my pretty."

Arwen flushed and whipped her hand away. From the other side of the theater, Greg tucked a stack of papers under his arm and applauded. "Bravo, dudess! Bravo!"

Ah yes. I was going to _enjoy_ this.


	43. Dark Queens Never Die

After a good laugh with Alisha over the night's events and a few hours of sleep, I left the mansion the following afternoon and headed for the theater. Which subjected me again to more pointing. And stares. But this time it was different, because I was thinking _cruel and heartless thoughts_; I fancied the masses were even more in awe of me than they had been last night.

More drills awaited our entire company. Greg was a real taskmaster. Nothing we did seemed good enough for him.

"What happened?! What _happened_?!" bemoaned our harried director, the Pencil of Doom slicing the air. "You dudes were getting this last night, and now we've slipped back to the level of Gilligan's Island! I don't want this phony goofy slapstick comedy. Nothing silly. I want to see sweeping drama! Passion! The humorous lines will fall flat if this story isn't brought to life so that the audience _believes_ in it - in _you_. Wipe that smirk off your face, Arthur; I'm going to rewrite the script so that _Arachnia_ wins if you don't put your heart and soul into this. I'll even give you her last lines!"

I never saw another mistake out of King Arthur in the final hours of rehearsal.

Poor Arwen looked completely disillusioned with Robin Hood because she was so tired. After I "captured" her (again), I sidled close to her, glanced cautiously at Greg, and whispered, "Don't worry. I brought a little present for us when this is over." When she looked at me curiously, I smiled. "Foot soak."

The dreamy look of relief on her face was almost comical. But it was genuine enough to satisfy Greg, I suppose. Our practice ended shortly after, and Arwen and I went into the back and enjoyed a nice respite from the whims of fashion shoe designers. Then my new friends introduced me to McDonald's chicken sandwiches, which...

They were interesting. They don't have anything like that in Narnia. It wasn't that bad, though, and I'm hooked on milkshakes and French fries now, even though French fries are coated in enough grease to turn a centaur's stomachs.

Minutes before the opening, I peeked out from the backstage curtains and was surprised to see the place steadily filling up. There was a full orchestra, made up of students from whatever college my drama group friends were attending, and friends and family of each member of the play - as well as each member of the orchestra. Everyone was dressed up in garish theatrical costumes - some even complete with jeweled masks - that reminded me, a lot, of the operas in France. Which I thoroughly enjoyed. And miss.

Props of green hills, a thick forest, a sort of tower (which was mine), and a pretty white balcony littered the stage. It all looked so fake... so contrived. I was suddenly overcome by chills.

I rejoined my companions backstage to await the final few minutes before showtime, and I was beginning to feel nervous. Lead settled in my stomach, and I joined the Three Musketeers in pacing - and trying to step lightly enough that the floorboards wouldn't scream. The lion's head was buried in his paws - shameful, I know. Arwen was sitting on some stairs in the corner, practicing her breathing exercises, while Robin Hood massaged her shoulders and assured her she wasn't going to go out there and trip on her dress and fall flat on her face. I couldn't tell what Darth Vader was feeling: He stood under that dark helmet, breathing loudly. Which he always did.

Only Arthur and Captain Hook seemed to be enjoying themselves; they were busy chestbumping and telling each other how they were the better performers and how they intended to prove it. They had just engaged in an impromptu duel of honor when Greg burst in and spoiled the fun, looking like he'd just escaped from a dragon's lair.

"Alright, dudes, this is it." Pale-faced, he swept a sweaty hand through his unkempt hair and made a half-hearted attempt to tuck in his shirt, but he seemed to have stage fright worse than any of us. And his part was already over.

The curtain lifted, and first out was Arwen, performing a modified ballet routine; and the conductor struck up the orchestra; and suddenly our little play became much more than a simple drama: It was _real_. Robin Hood himself emerged, looking far different than the simple youth in green whom I'd practiced on the same stage with for the past two days: Weighed down by the cares of the world, he trudged through the landscape of trees, and when he saw her dancing, he did a perfect double take and stopped in his tracks, staring like a man caught under a spell. He moved a little closer to her, and when Arwen caught sight of him, she lifted a hand and stifled a cry of surprise. Then she ran away.

"Wait! Milady!" cried Robin, and he gave chase.

Arwen bounded lightly like a white doe up the stairs to her balcony, and there she paused, watching Robin as he slowed and gazed up at her.

"Lo, what light from yonder window breaks? 'Tis the East, and Arwen is the sun," he quoted.

At that point she cut him off. "Bold Robin, how do you know my name?"

"My heart told me," answered he, softly, "as it has told me a great many other things; as yours has told you my name as well."

"A Robin by any other name could not sing as sweet..." she began, and the audience chuckled at this strange portrayal of characters from two completely different tales caught in the dialogue of Romeo and Juliet.

With that Robin held out his hand to her, and she slowly descended her staircase, and a sweet waltz began - a lovely tune called "Edelweiss", beginning with the nonsensical and rushed lines: "You are two hundred and sixteen going on two hundred and seventeen…" I missed most of the dance, for Greg was hissing my name and waving frantically. It was almost time for my first appearance. I crept into the shadows of my tower and there watched the conclusion of Robin and Arwen's dance through the tower "door", noting that both of them retained perfect expressions of honest infatuation.

"Have you kissed before?" wondered Arwen innocently at a lull in the symphony.

"I have," replied Robin with grave regret; "and now I wish I had not: For my first kiss would have been the kiss of an angel."

The music mounted to a heartbreaking crescendo as they shared a sweet and remarkably chaste kiss. I swallowed hard and looked away, reminding myself to think cruel and heartless thoughts. I was about to make their lives miserable. I heard Robin's final line: "By your lips are mine redeemed..." And the music faded to wordless melody, then to simple quiet. I knew without looking that the stage was empty; the besotted lovers had gone their separate ways - Robin to his forest, Arwen to her balcony.

A single dark note split the air. That was my cue. In a sudden stomping motion, I emerged regally into the blinding spotlight; the evil queen who would rule the night.

Accompanying me was the evil serenading of my personal theme music. Haughtily I swept a half-lidded glance over my surroundings, then clapped my hands sharply.

"Arise, my faithful ones!"

They did. The fog machine set mist rolling about my feet, and from beyond the hills crept Captain Hook, and out from behind my grand tower stepped Darth Vader. Darth Vader reached me first and knelt at my feet.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

"Hmm." Coyly I tilted my head in a pose of great thought. "Has the king been exiled? His followers scattered to the four winds?"

"It has been done," breathed Lord Vader darkly, his head bowed still.

"Excellent." I gave him my hand briefly, and he put it to his mask before I took it away again and sauntered towards the audience, leaving him to rise. "And what of you, Hook? Have you taken care of the lion?"

Hook gave a devilish grin. "I brought you his heart in this box." He set it on the ground, since I was ignoring him. "He's naught but a quivering coward without it."

I smirked. "Now, now at last," I purred, letting my eyes gleam with greed, "this kingdom will be... _mine_." I snatched my hand dramatically into the air and clenched it into the fist of a conquerer. "Nothing can stop me now."

Whirling, I turned my back on the audience and ascended my throne, and I took my rightful place on the grand seat, shifting my shoulders in an exaggerated manner as if to get comfortable there: It was _my_ throne now, after all, and I was pure evil.

I leaned against one side of the huge throne. "What of that outlaw Robin Hood?" I queried of my two henchmen next.

"He is hiding out in Sherwood, and we have not yet been able to capture him," replied Captain Hook darkly. "But!" He raised his hooked hand. "We'll have him eventually. One of my spies reported seeing him dancing with the Lady Arwen."

"Oh, yes, dancing with the Lady Arwen." Suddenly I jolted forward. "Dancing...!" I leapt to my feet, my gray eyes blazing. "You FOOL! You should have TOLD me! Do you know what this means?" I hissed, descending the throne on him like a black widow spider while he cowered under my menacing shadow. "It means _love_, you idiot." I stamped my foot. "Love!" Captain Hook obviously didn't comprehend the significance of the discovery, so I spelled it out for him, using disdainfully simple language. "The king, the lion, and love are the only weapons that can destroy me. You dealt with two and allowed the third to slip through your fingers."

With a final scathing glare, I mounted the steps to my throne and threw myself down on the seat to brood. Captain Hook was recovering from the onslaught, but Darth Vader knelt before me again.

"My queen, shall _I_ kill Robin Hood?"

"No!" I snapped. "Robin has proved too elusive for your dull wits. I want the girl." A slow smirk spread over my face. "Then Robin will come for her, and we will kill him then. Bring her to me at once!"

"Yes, my master." Darth Vader bowed his head, then rose and stormed off, his black cape flaring out behind him. The orchestra played the Darth Vader theme for his grand exit, eliciting a chuckle from our audience.

I glowered down on Captain Hook. "Then, when I have her in my grasp, Robin Hood will come," I bit out. "Like a moth to the flame. He will be as helpless here as a fly in my web. Love," I put in with a nasty chuckle, "will be my weapon before I snuff it out forever."

Rising, I brushed past the bow of Captain Hook and disappeared into my castle. Captain Hook slunk away until his next scene should come up.

Darth Vader plucked Arwen from her balcony and dragged her to my tower, locking her in the upper portion of it. She went out on the parapet and gave a heartrending performance of a song called "Will You," which, if I hadn't fought to remain in my wretched persona, might have brought a tear to my eye. Laurie was a wonderful actress, and under Greg's persistent coaching, she really did bring Arwen to life. So much so, in fact, that Laurie, who has a little poetry talent, wrote the song she now sang with such fervency to an imaginary moon:

_My life was caught in the night,_

_My heart locked away,_

_But I never knew, I never knew,_

_Til on my way_

_Our paths at last crossed._

_Your eyes pierced the shadows_

_Holding me bound,_

_And I never knew, I never knew,_

_Til I was found_

_That I had been lost._

_Will you be_

_My rescuer?_

_Will you be_

_My surrender?_

_Will you be_

_My love, my king?_

_Will you be_

_My everything?_

_Stars cannot shine without the sun above;_

_Life won't be the same without the one I love;_

_So I stand here crying for an angel,_

_Praying for release from this cold lonely shell._

_Can you hear my endless cry?_

_Do you know how I long to fly?_

_Forever I have waited to take flight,_

_Will you make that leap of faith with me tonight?_

_Take me to the land where dreams never die,_

_And find love waiting beneath the scarlet sky._

And then our side of the stage got a small break. Arwen came down from her tower, and I congratulated her on her lovely performance as the spotlight shifted to Robin Hood, who challenged the wandering nobleman to a duel and ended up discovering, in classic Robin Hood fashion, that he was truly King Arthur. Arthur showed him the broken shards of Excalibur as proof. And that's when Robin's "merry men", the Three Musketeers, arrived at the blast of Robin's horn. Athos, Porthos and Aramis at once recognized their long-lost king. A merry reunion ensued. The stage was ringing with shouts of "All for one and one for all!" before Robin managed to shut them up.

But not before it had roused the lion from his nap. He stumbled out of his makeshift cave, rubbing his sleepy eyes with a paw and yawning; and upon seeing the five men, he freaked. I turned away, unable to watch when he cowered pathetically before them and whimpered about their weapons. It was just embarrassing.

Whereupon Robin and his men pledged allegiance to King Arthur and promised to help reclaim the throne, the noble king knelt before Robin Hood.

"If by my life or death I can bring you back to your love," intoned Arthur gravely, "I will. You have my sword."

"Er... that's nice," answered Robin, shifting feet, "but it's broken."

Everyone laughed.

It was time for my gloating sequence. Greg hustled me into place long before the spotlight turned onto me, brooding sullenly on my throne. I got up and began a grandiose monologue about how nothing could stop me now, and all my enemies had been vanquished, and the rest of the world would fall now that the king, the lion, and love had been removed.

"Love, where is thy sting?" I demanded with a swirl of my spiderwebbed cloak. I burst into evil laughter.

And that's when Captain Hook came panting up from the other side of the stage, casting furtive glances over his shoulder. "They are coming!"

I smiled. "Just as planned." With a snap of my fingers, I summoned the forbidding dark lord from the tower. "Take care of them," I ordered coolly, and I myself entered the tower and left my loyal minions to their own devices.

The following battle was almost comical. I watched from the shadows while Porthos struggled to remove his blade from his sheath, without any success. He crowhopped about, pulling with all his might at the hilt. The lion took one look at Captain Hook's hook, and his eyes widened, and he ran away like a scared kitten.

"Away, away, puss!" jeered Captain Hook after him. "And don't come back until you can roar!"

Aramis lifted an eyebrow, then ducked out of sight behind the ornate throne. That left Athos as the king's second, but he wasn't for long. Captain Hook swept them both a bow and gave one of his trademark flashing smiles.

"Aha! I present your highness with a gift from South America!" So saying, he lifted a blowgun to his lips and shot the king in the shoulder with a poisoned dart. Athos caught Arthur as he fell and dragged him off into the woods while Captain Hook went hunting for Aramis... too late. Aramis escaped his clutches, holding the box containing the lion's heart.

Meanwhile Robin Hood and Darth Vader were engaged in a spirited duel that was really quite spectacular. (I found out later that they were both enrolled in fencing classes at their college.) It was give and take for awhile as they battled up and down the stage and even up onto Arwen's deserted balcony. They even knocked a section of the railing off, which was rather impressive. It was there that Darth Vader finally got the upper hand, "cutting" off Robin's sword hand at the wrist (Robin really just slid his hand into his shirt and held the sleeve ends in his fist) and sent the sword flying down below, and Robin backed away from the tip of Darth Vader's sword.

"Join me," suggested Vader in a dark tone. "We will defeat Arachnia and rule the galaxy as father and son."

People in the audience were starting to laugh as Robin backed away still more, edging off the balcony. "No, I'll never join you. You killed my father!"

"No, Robin. I... _am_ your father."

Laughter rocked the house. Robin's face crumbled. "No, it's not true!"

"Search your feelings. You will know it to be true."

Robin made a desperate bid for freedom. Knocking Vader's blade aside, he leapt nimbly to his feet and jumped down into the waiting arms of Porthos, who had at last made himself useful. Setting Robin on his feet, they grabbed up the loose sword and made a run for the woods while the dark lord gripped the railing and stared after them.

There was a recovery scene in the glade, where the Musketeers tended to Arthur's wound. From somewhere among the trees came Athos' voice: "Hey, has anyone got the manual on how to reinstall a heart?"

Aramis sent Porthos into the woods to find something called Kingsfoil, and apparently it was a plant with blue flowers. Porthos ran by several such plants without paying them any attention, muttering to himself:

"Blue flowers, blue flowers... why did I have to be colorblind?"

People laughed. Meanwhile poor Robin Hood was sitting on a log, his yellow head buried in his one good hand as he bemoaned aloud the fate that had become his: To fight his father to claim his love. The lion was nowhere to be seen.

I stormed onto the stage, furious. "You fools! You let those imbeciles get away with the heart of the lion, and you didn't kill the king?! Now they'll be back, and they will be the ruin of us all!"

Captain Hook slunk out and Darth Vader descended the staircase, joining him to kneel before me in supplication. But my temper would not be placated. "I should never have trusted you to carry out a simple mission. I planned every last detail of this trap. It was brilliant. Trust a pair of bumbling idiots like you to... Why," I interrupted myself, fuming, "it's as if you're _rooting_ for the other side!"

"At this point, I almost am," muttered poor Captain Hook.

I rounded on him. "What was that?"

"I just said... I wonder if I left the lights on in my Trans Am."

"Oh." I waved my hand airily and let the audience chuckle. "Well never mind that. We have worse problems on our hands now."

"Like me?"

All three of us whirled at once to see King Arthur standing there, Excalibur reforged and gleaming in all its silver glory before us. I let my face go pale. "I thought you were poisoned."

He shrugged. "Aramis is an excellent doctor."

As he spoke, Robin Hood stepped out, much to Darth Vader's chagrin. "How did you fix your hand?"

"I didn't. I just got a new one."

As our attentive audience laughed and applauded, Robin and Darth Vader again launched themselves into a full-blown duel while Arthur fought Captain Hook in the background. I was about to enter the tower when I found my way blocked by the lion, a frighteningly confident look in his eyes. He had his paws on his hips in a pose of great disapproval. During the diversion, all three Musketeers quickly entered the tower.

I stumbled back a couple of steps before the lion. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I think you know, Arachnia," he answered boldly, stepping forward. "I came to claim what is _mine_."

Panicked, I moved backwards, away from him, but the lion was already filling his lungs. I was doomed. The cowardly lion roared, and I cried out and covered my ears, then collapsed on the ground beside my own throne. At that, Darth Vader and Captain Hook both stopped fighting: My spell on them was weakening.

I lifted my head with a great effort and glared at the lion. "You... will never... be rid of me," I told him with a weary - yet still wicked - smile. "Dark queens... never die."

Laughing, I held up my claw-like hand, then stiffened and choked. I dropped to the ground, "dead".

The instant my demise was complete, the orchestra struck up a perky song of celebration. I watched through one half-closed eye as Arwen emerged from the tower, having been freed by the Musketeers, and when she saw Robin she raced across the stage and flew into his arms. He picked her off the ground and whirled her in a circle as she hugged him delightedly. Darth Vader stood by, looking on like a proud father. It was Captain Hook, however, who was by far the most jubilant. He held out his hands to the crowd.

"Wedding? I love weddings! Drinks all around!"

As he entertained them, the spotlight shifted away and left me in the dark. I rose to my feet and snuck behind the curtain, then crept backstage. I knew without seeing what came next: The final scenes, where King Arthur received his crown and MY throne - yes, MY throne; I was irritated that they'd killed me to get it, the fools; and the Three Musketeers raised their swords in a triangle and shouted "All for one and one for all;" and the lion did an impression from a movie I have yet to see called The Lion King and ascended the balcony to unleash a very human roar. Hm. Then Robin Hood and Arwen danced to a song called "Tale As Old As Time," and it was to end with a final kiss and the falling of the curtains. Only... I had a little surprise for them.

I managed to slip past Greg: He was intently holding the curtain cord, trusting no one but himself to drop it at just the right time for dramatic effect. I hunted through piles of discarded props until I found what I was looking for: A hollow plastic tube. I rushed into position and, as the music was beginning to fade and Robin was taking Arwen into his arms, I ruined their imminent kiss by suddenly letting loose a lot of maniacal laughter, which echoed through the whole theater and froze everyone in their places. I kept on laughing until Greg dropped the curtain on the surprised company.

Then I stopped. And Greg was coming towards me. He looked absolutely furious.

"Arachnia-" he began, but his tirade was cut short by thunderous applause, and he stared at the curtain - almost in shock. The cheers went on and on. Finally we were joined by the rest of the actors, all of them glowing, overjoyed at their own performance and the reaction to it. Abruptly Arthur seized the hands of Robin and Arwen and moved toward the stage. The rest of us - and Greg - followed. Every last person in the building was on their feet, showering us with praise; and the noise level increased when we emerged again into the light, waving and smiling at them. Linking hands, we bowed graciously - once, twice, three times - and then began a noble exit. I had to grab Greg by the wrist and take him with me or he might've stayed there all night, basking in the moment.

The play was a huge success. Afterwards we went out and mingled, and people were praising us until we were overcome with embarrassment. They did secure an encore performance out of Greg for the following night.

Which we did. The house was packed to standing room only: I had no idea where we'd found all these people, but here they were. The play went off just as well as the one before, only of course the element of surprise for the actors was missing when I ended the show by laughing evilly and casting a genuine Halloween chill over the final song. It was perfect and fitting.

I had formed something of a bond with my drama company over the last two days. Greg gathered us in a circle when our adoring throngs had at last departed, leaving us alone. Gone was the hard-as-nails drill sergeant. In his place was a gentle, somewhat shy young man who was genuinely grateful, and if I were not mistaken, there were tears glittering behind his spectacles.

"Thank you... thank you _all_, dudes," he told us with great warmth. "It was quite a challenge to put all that together on such short notice, but I knew you had it in you."

"Why didn't you plan it further in advance?" I wondered: The question had been nagging at me for two days.

"It was a bit of a surprise to us, even," put in Robin Hood. "Our professor gave us this assignment - to write and orchestrate a Halloween play in 48 hours. We had been brainstorming and brainstorming without success until Jack here went out to get some fresh air," he said, jarring Darth Vader's shoulder.

Greg nodded. "I knew we had our villain when he brought you back."

"But how did you know I could pull off such a... such an evil role?" I wondered.

Darth Vader chuckled darkly in his mask. "The cold way you greeted me was good enough."

"Did we get a passing grade?" I wondered next, looking to Greg.

His satisfied grin was all the answer I needed.

It was getting late and I needed to return to the mansion. I hugged each of them - Laurie last of all.

"Will we see you again?" she wondered plaintively as I headed for the door.

I stopped in my tracks, then turned my head over my shoulder. Drawing myself up to my full regal height, I bestowed on her a superior smile.

"Of course," I answered haughtily. "Dark queens never die." With a wink and a final wave, I walked away.


	44. Will You?

The night was starry and chilled as I left the cab and walked the last few yards to the mansion. It was unspeakably wonderful to be home, and as soon as I slipped inside the door, I breathed a sigh of relief and inhaled deeply of the warm, familiar scents that were becoming second nature to me.

What a lovely adventure I'd had in the last three days - living differently outside the confines of the school, interacting and working and forming a fellowship with a great group of people who'd brought to life a beautiful love story. I'd enjoyed playing the evil Queen Arachnia because she was so different from the real me. But I was eager to escape that costume and put on my normal dress and go back to being _me_ - just regular Violar.

I guess two masks are just too much for me.

With a mug of hot chocolate in hand, I curled up on the sitting room couch and wrapped myself in a thick blanket. The room was semi-dark and the mansion was quiet: Where everyone was, I don't really know. I assume the students were out trick-or-treating. It _was_ Halloween, after all. This deep silence was wonderful and I allowed myself to relax. I needed some time alone, to think.

As the excitement of the day faded, a mantle of nostalgic melancholy settled over me. Now I was fighting the urge to cry. It had been getting steadily stronger for hours. _What is the matter with me?_

I took a sip of hot chocolate and set the cup aside, rubbing at my forehead. There was a song playing in my mind, and since the atmosphere was so quiet, it pressed to the forefront and made its presence undeniably known:

_My life was caught in the night,_

_My heart locked away,_

_But I never knew, I never knew,_

_Til on my way_

_Our paths at last crossed._

_Your eyes pierced the shadows_

_Holding me bound,_

_And I never knew, I never knew,_

_Til I was found_

_That I had been lost._

_Will you be_

_My rescuer?_

_Will you be_

_My surrender?_

_Will you be_

_My love, my king?_

_Will you be_

_My everything?_

_Stars cannot shine without the sun above;_

_Life won't be the same without the one I love;_

_So I stand here crying for an angel,_

_Praying for release from this cold lonely shell._

_Can you hear my endless cry?_

_Do you know how I long to fly?_

_Forever I have waited to take flight,_

_Will you make that leap of faith with me tonight?_

_Take me to the land where dreams never die,_

_And find love waiting beneath the scarlet sky._

_Will you be_

_My rescuer?_

_Will you be_

_My surrender?_

_Will you be_

_My love, my king?_

_Will you be_

_My everything?_

The song from the play.

I almost burst into tears and curled up in a tighter ball on the couch, my eyes squeezed shut hard to prevent the rain from falling. The persistent lump in my throat wouldn't go away, and the song, upon reaching its conclusion, returned to the beginning and began to play again. I lifted a shaking hand to pinch the bridge of my nose.

That song... it echoed the cry in my own heart. Perfectly. The tale of Arwen and Robin Hood also touched something deep inside me. As much as I hated to admit it, as much as I fought it, as much as I didn't _want_ it to be, the truth was... the truth _is_... I'm lonely.

I remember the legendary love of my parents. I see people around me fall in love. I watch them walking together and speaking with one another. I see the glow in their faces and how their eyes light up when merely thinking of each other. And then my heart hurts. I smile, I encourage them, I'll even... I'll be there for both of them, if they need anything, anything at all: Love is full of moments where one or both parties need someone to talk to, to confide in, or a shoulder to cry on. Being a wise centaur, and knowing the concepts of what true love is, I can fill that role easily.

But it does take a massive toll on me. And when the rest of the world is quiet, like it was on this night, all pretenses disintegrate and I can't push away the truth anymore. I may love my freedom. I may be enjoying my new family. I may love life, and I may live it with every ounce of energy and vitality I own. But that doesn't mean that sometimes, _sometimes_, I'm too tough to cry.

I got up and left that sitting room, heading out into the courtyard. The chill of night enveloped me as I stepped out under the stars. I touched my sapphire and shifted into my taller centaur form because I feel most comfortable being true to myself, and I was getting to the point where two limbs were not balancing me well enough. I wanted my four sturdy hooves. I looked up to the skies, and there, in the darkness, I let the tears silently flow down my face as I watched the ravelin moon swim in an ocean of my sorrows.

Answers were not to be found there that night. Sometimes, there are no answers. I have a secret I cannot reveal, ever, and it has put my dearest dreams out of reach. But... it wouldn't stop me from wishing, or from crying, and it would not stem my heartache. Staying in New York was making it worse, but it couldn't be helped. Every passing day was harder to bear. But leaving would be harder. I was held captive: Being torn apart where I was, unable - and unwilling - to move away because the beauty of this enchanted song held me under its spell. All I could do was stand here and suffer.

With heavy hooves, I trotted over to the beautiful fountain and peered down into the smooth depths at my own reflection: The reflection of Zephina Freeheart Wildfire, unmasked, gazing back at me. A single tear splashed down and rippled the image of my own face.

Sometimes, it is so very hard to cling to courage. I wonder how long it will be before I break...

I worry. It might not be long. And when I do, I don't know what will happen, and that terrifies me more than anything. But I must stay... because I am needed here, to preserve something so utterly perfect that nothing I have encountered before compares. Outside forces seek to destroy it. It needs protecting. It's like a tiny little flower, still caught in the throes of winter - waiting for the sun; waiting to burst into full bloom. I try, with all my might, to keep the frost from touching those delicate roots and killing it. For that alone, I would stay in New York forever. I would endure any pain. I would even die. When I think of my mission that way, I'm not so afraid anymore.

A light breeze caught and tangled in my thick mane. Whirling away from the water, I broke into a gallop and raced across the courtyard, my gaze thrown among the stars as I leaped upwards again and again in an attempt to fly, to just fly; to escape the bonds of earthly concerns and immerse myself in a realm where troubles did not exist - where all burdens could be forgotten for a time. I bounded to a halt atop a shallow rise and stood there, my arms spread like Angel's wings beneath the heavens, the cold wind rushing over me, through me, past me; catching in the leaves and whispering my name and crying in its own heartbreaking language. Tears streamed from my eyes as I listened to it whimper restlessly: It was just as wild and discontent and lonely as I.

Sometimes, I feel sorry even for the wind. It has everything. It can touch treetops and fly across the seas and reach every corner of the world, yet it has nothing and no one to call its own. All those who belong to the wind - whose hearts are too wild to be tamed - run with the wind, but they do not belong to it. There is nothing sadder than the wind: It has lived for thousands of years and will never know love.

Maybe I am the wind... personified.

Suddenly I had to get away. I had to leave this place. I raced down into the hill and through the thick forest, dodging tree trunks, leaping over fallen logs. running and running and running, on and on until at last I broke free of the woods and raced across the open plains, tears still prominent in my vision: The stiff breeze could not take them away faster than I could cry them.

Ooh, freedom. My best friend. My favorite element. I reveled in it. I lost myself in it. I bucked and kicked and galloped fiercely, thrashing my tail and letting the long weeds whip at my churning legs before I pounded them mercilessly under my hooves. My strong, steely muscles slid easily like liquid metal beneath my gleaming golden coat, turned silver by the moonlight. Both hearts sent blood coursing through my veins: Yes, I felt gloriously alive, but my stamina was not enough to outrun my burdens.

When at last I could go no further and collapsed in the grass, I was still crying. I buried my face in the grass and sobbed.

_No more... please... no more... I can't take it... I just can't..._

Hours later, I trudged back into the courtyard of Xavier's, worn out and outwardly composed. The reason for my composure was simple: I had exhausted myself; I couldn't even muster the strength for a facial expression, or the production of a single thought. Somewhat blankly, I took my human form and drifted into the sleeping mansion like a ghost. The sitting room was as I'd left it: Semi-dark and empty, a sort of haven for a lost soul.

I dropped onto the couch. My chocolate was stone cold by then, but I didn't care anymore. Facing the cushions, I rolled onto my side and simply pulled the blanket over my shivering body. With a deep sigh, I let a single verse take my thoughts as I drifted into deep unconsciousness:

_Will you?_


	45. Reflections

The morning dawned in beautiful colors: All cream and gold, which gradually rose in flames of pink and red until the sun leapt over the fire and bounded into the sky, turning it bright autumn blue. Fall had taken the trees by storm. From my vantage point, I could see deciduous trees raining leaves of gold and red and even deep purple, and the horizon line was a feast of verdant color veiled in thin curtains of translucent mist. The rising sun sent shafts of gold piercing through the canopy until the individual leaves turned to pieces of stained glass, and the world became a cathedral - completely sacred, because it had all been touched by the hand of God.

Deeply moved, I watched the entire drama from the shallow rise where I'd stood the night before. Only this time, instead of crying, I was softly smiling.

Loneliness is not such a bad thing. It causes me to be more dependent on Aslan. But also, should the impossible come to pass and love overtake my heart, I will be the more grateful for that love and treasure it _because_ I was once lonely and am no more.

Regardless of what happens, I won't settle for anything. I would rather die alone than spend my life knowing I've compromised for the sake of obtaining an emotional pacifier. My life has been a great saga of loneliness already: I will not perish in the desert on my journey to paradise.

It helps that already I have seen paradise. That makes mere oasises intolerable. It does hurt like anything to see paradise completely beyond reach, knowing - rationally - that I'll never pass through those wondrous gates. But I will deal with it. Somehow. There will be other nights of tears and broken hearts, but the sun will rise again. And I along with it.

After a refreshing morning gallop through the dewy woods, over plush carpets of fallen leaves too grand for the halls of any monarch's palace, I splashed through an invigoratingly cold pond nestled deep in the yellow forest. Centaurs aren't as susceptible to low temperatures as humans are. Which is extremely fortunate. I mean, do you have any idea how difficult it would be to fit a centaur of my size into one of those little bitty showers? Besides, this is more natural to me anyway. In Narnia, the creatures cross the Great River and the Swift River enough that baths aren't really an issue. I did miss standing under the waterfall and letting the white torrents crash down and pummel my back, but there are other wonderful things about New York. The absence of a waterfall is only a minor detraction from an otherwise fantastic place.

I shook myself off and thrashed my wet whip of a tail, then returned to the courtyard to sit by the merry fountain and dry. The droplets were miniature prisms which leapt and dove and played in the sunlight like shattered rainbows, holding me mesmerized. They flashed in my vision like tiny suns and falling stars until I could hardly see anymore. There was something about the glad song of the gushing water and the stunning display that I chuckled to myself, and I lowered my gaze into the pond closer to me and waited for the blinding white spots to leave my eyes.

When they did, I was met by a startling sight: My own reflection, looking back at me from beneath a background of azure blue, instead of darkness and diamonds - as it had been last night. There was a rare sparkle in my silver eyes. Today, everything looked new and remade, like the beginning of creation; as if I'd been gifted with a fresh start. I smiled, and my reflection smiled back.

I was reminded then of a song I'd heard while watching a children's movie called _Mulan_ with a few of the students:

_Look at me,_

_You may think you see_

_Who I really am;_

_But you'll never know me._

_Every day, is as if I play a part;_

_Now I see, if I wear a mask_

_I can fool the world;_

_But I can not fool my heart._

_Who is that girl I see_

_Staring straight back at me?_

_When will my reflection show_

_Who I am inside?_

_I am now_

_In a world where I have to_

_Hide my heart_

_And what I believe in._

_But somehow,_

_I will show the world_

_What's inside my heart_

_And be loved for who I am._

_Who is that girl I see_

_Staring straight back at me?_

_Why is my reflection_

_Someone I don't know?_

_Must I pretend that I'm_

_Someone else for all time?_

_When will my reflection show_

_Who I am inside?_

_There's a heart that must_

_Be free to fly_

_That burns with a need_

_To know the reason why._

_Why must we all conceal_

_What we think, how we feel;_

_Must there be a secret me_

_I'm forced to hide?_

_I won't pretend that I'm_

_Someone else_

_For all time._

_When will my reflections show_

_Who I am inside?_

_When will my reflections show_

_Who I am inside?_

The main character was a young girl named Mulan whose life had striking similarities to my own. Mulan was not accepted by her society and was sort of an outcast. Later on, she would get a chance to redeem herself. But in the lowest ebb of her emotions, she walked beside a stream and sang this heartbreaking soul-song to the wind.

For me, here and now, I too wander beside a stream, wondering if my own chance for redemption will come. But for now, I'll take Mulan's resolves to heart. I have to conceal my feelings right now. But maybe, someday, I won't have to anymore. Then I can be me - the _real_ me. I can set aside the last of my masks and learn to fly.

With that bold thought as my banner, I climbed to my hooves and headed for the mansion, seeking out Angel with no little sense of anticipation and excitement.

May you also find the courage to spread your wings and find freedom in the arms of the wind.


	46. Justice and Injustice

Angel wasn't in the mansion.

That took the edge off my lighter mood. But as the days and weeks passed, it was the long-term absences of Xavier's winged mutant that took a toll on me. Angel spent less and less time at the mansion, dropping in for a day or two at a time before leaving for increasing lengths of time. When I crept warily into his room, I immediately missed the white feathers that were usually scattered here and there. Now there were only red feathers from his roommate Jay.

With Angel elsewhere, I cautiously decided to sleep in the corner of his room - though I still preferred to curl up elsewhere, such as in the peaceful solitude of the abandoned chapel. By the mane, I missed Kurt. And yet, had the blue mutant been at the mansion, I couldn't have confided in him, either.

I was terribly worried about Angel - and his girlfriend, Thea. Aside from the possible threat Thea and her winged companions posed to Narnia, it wasn't necessarily Thea's alleged connection with Jadis that troubled me: I asked Angel about it, and he was aware that Thea was from Narnia and that she claimed to side with Jadis, yet it was inconsequential - or so he said. It was hard to believe that any connection with the White Witch could possibly be trivial, and it was deeply concerning that - if she had to have a trivial connection - Thea would choose Jadis over Aslan. It said a lot about Thea's character, whether Angel placed much stock in Narnian alignment or not.

And Angel didn't. He didn't care one way or the other.

There were other - more urgent - matters to be dealt with first: Thea was very hard on Angel, and she wasted little time in usurping control of his life and dominating him. Before long, they were having terrible fights, and Thea would break up with him - or threaten to break up with him - only to reestablish their relationship days later. Angel refused to give up on the pink-winged angel, and... she probably found that very difficult to resist.

No wonder. Angel's undying devotion to his woman pierced me to the soul. Oh, but she was lucky. Deep down, I envied Thea so much, and yet... I tried my best not to be jealous. I just wanted them both to be happy.

But some things in this life are impossible for reasons I don't understand. The cycle of fighting, breaking up, and making up continued incessantly until that tiny spark of hope I felt every time Angel told me, very sadly, that he was single once more ceased to flare at the news. Soon it seemed that the only times I met with Angel at Xavier's were when he was just fresh off their latest tiff - and, more often than not, another temporary ending of their relationship. What broke my heart was how devastated Angel was every time he was sure he'd lost her for good.

He really did love her. After a few months, my suspicions that Thea didn't love him nearly as much had taken hideous form.

But it was impossible to tell Angel that: His faith in her was heartbreakingly unshakable. I dropped hints - sometimes strong hints - but I couldn't bear to dissuade him overmuch, and instead encouraged and counseled as much as I could. He loved Thea, and he was determined to stick with her through thick and thin. He had chosen this woman, and his love was so great that surely things would eventually turn around - for both of them.

As time went on without change for the better, however, I began to lose hope for their happy ending - and for seeing Angel happy, one way or the other. I could do nothing but stand by and watch, utterly helpless. I felt as if Thea were destroying him a piece at a time.

My hopeless feelings weighed heavily on my broken heart, and one afternoon I decided to take a trip into downtown New York - anything to get away from constant reminders; anything to distract my thoughts which continuously strayed to him.

And... much as I hate to admit this... nights were harder on me. Angel spent his late hours with Thea, and... I didn't want to think about that. It was too much to bear.

With only a bookbag at my side, filled with little more than a few dollars borrowed from Alisha, I donned my cream-colored trench coat and set out on my adventure. Autumn skies above me were gray as I picked up a handful of skirt and descended the steps into Xavier's back courtyard, but it wasn't going to rain. My centaurian senses told me that.

Soft, washed-out sunrays played through the trees as I drifted through the thick section of yellow-gold forest that separated Xavier's from a park, and I emerged on the shores of the pond where I sometimes washed my golden fur: The mansion's showers weren't large enough to accommodate a centaur. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and barely glanced at it before skirting the edge, my eyes on the ground in front of me. I knew the way by heart, so I let my feet wander where they would and allowed my heavy thoughts to consume me.

Of reality, I do not recall much about that late afternoon: I made it to the sidewalk, headed northward, left the more rural streets near Graymalkin Lane and got lost in a sea of humanity moving steadily through a busier segment of New York. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, and although I wasn't, I went along with the flow. Everyone ignored everyone else. That was typical of New York, and that day, I ignored everyone as much as they ignored me.

When I finally lifted my eyes, I was standing in front of a Barnes and Noble's.

It was a bookstore: It said so on the sign, as if the book displays and posters in the windows weren't enough to give it away. On impulse I crossed the parking lot, shying away from one car that pulled quickly out of a slot with little warning, and pushed open the front door.

Immediately the busyness of the city was shut out and relative library-like quiet settled over me. Soft music played in the background, and shelves upon shelves of books begged me to read them. I wandered slowly down one of the main aisles, looking over various headings: Adult Fiction, Sci-Fi, Non-Fiction, Self-Help, Pets. I sidestepped into one section that promised thrilling murder mysteries, but when I read through several back covers, it felt too gruesome for even a warrior like myself. I skipped romance - the last thing I wanted to read about was romance - and wandered further down until I found a shelf with old-fashioned Earth classics.

_The Princess Bride_ looked intriguing, but when I read the summary, I felt as if the story were based too much on love for me to stomach during that particular time in my life. Perhaps later, I would pick it up again. _A Tale of Two Cities_ was about the French Revolution, which took place several hundred years after I'd visited France. When I first came to New York, discovering that bloody period in their history had been shocking and greatly upsetting; worse, I would have to keep that information to myself when I ran into King Philippe again.

I had no doubt that we would meet once more at some point in the future.

The back cover hinted that Charles Dickens' characters had not fared well in the face of tragedy and bloodshed, and that was heavier material than I wished to indulge in. I sighed and skipped it. I continued down the aisle, glancing over random titles, until another book caught my eye: _The Scarlet Pimpernel._

Alisha had mentioned something about a costume for the heroine in _The Scarlet Pimpernel_, so I took a chance on just that tiny ounce of familiarity and skimmed the summary. Also set in the Revolutionary War, its characters nevertheless triumphed over their circumstances. The mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel, an English nobleman who masqueraded as an inane fop and a societal idiot whose only claim to nobility seemed his lineage and sizable pocketbook, was a hero and a rescuer.

Just the sort of thing I wanted to read about. I picked up that book and tucked it under my arm, then continued to browse with less interest. On my way to the checkout lane, I passed a rack of yellow and black books: _Algebra for Dummies, Rock Guitar for Dummies, Personal Finance for Dummies, Wine for Dummies, Beekeeping for Dummies, Knitting for Dummies, _and too many other titles to properly take in. My centaurian pride was pricked, of course, but I couldn't help smirking. It was rather amusing. On impulse, I added _Roses for Dummies_ to my small purchase and carried my books to the front desk.

Perhaps I would return, if I found the book on roses informative - and not too terribly condescending, as the title suggested it might be.

I handed the clerk a roll of bills and noticed a _Now Hiring_ sign next to a stack of generic applications. I picked one up, collected my books, and left the store in a somewhat thoughtful mood.

I wanted a job in New York. I wasn't going anywhere for awhile, and I needed a way to support myself. Alisha had been very generous to me thus far, but I didn't want to take advantage of her. I wanted to contribute to my new community rather than being a member they would need to support. But where would I start? Books of this world were a mystery to me, and surely one of the hiring requirements for a store like Barnes and Noble's was that the employees should have _some_ knowledge of modern literature.

I sighed. It was a daunting thought, but I would ask Alisha about it later. I noticed a coffeeshop next door to Barnes and Noble's called Starbucks, and I turned toward it and ventured inside.

I wasn't disappointed. It was quiet and cozy, and it smelled thickly of warm coffee and cinnamon rolls. Smooth jazz played in the background. All in all, this Starbucks place offered comfort to a cold, lonely soul on a gray November afternoon.

I looked over the giant black menu board over the head of a tall blonde fellow wearing a green apron. He was lanky, like some of the teenage boys at Xavier's, but slightly older and more filled-out. He stared at me with expectant green eyes.

I chose something simple. "Um, good day, sir. Could I have a... a French Vanilla Creme latte?"

The fellow sobered and shook his head. "No ma'am, I'm sorry," he replied, but I thought I detected a twinkle hidden in the corners of his eyes. "You cannot have one, but you may _purchase_ one."

I smiled at his unexpected humor. "Thank you..." My gaze shifted to his nametag. "James. I'd be happy to _purchase_ a French Vanilla Creme latte and... and one of those delicious-looking cinnamon rolls in there." I flicked my fingers towards an acrylic case on the counter.

"Oh, ma'am, they don't merely _look_ delicious," he retorted, and I laughed. James grinned and began putting together my order. "Will this be for here or to go?"

I shifted my gaze around the little shop. "For here," I responded, deciding on an empty corner table. "Thank you, James."

"You are _welcome_," he emphasized, mixing the latte with incredible speed and expertise. I looked back at him and smiled, somewhat puzzled by his outgoing and rather un-New York-like behavior, which he then explained. "It gets slow around this time of day, so you're the lucky lady who gets to be waited on hand and foot."

I blushed. "Well, that's very kind of you, James. I suppose it never hurts to keep your skills sharp."

"Oh, not at all. Besides, I'm taking business and management classes," he rambled, snapping a white plastic lid over the thick paper cup full of hot, foamy liquid. "I have to be good with customers if I have hope of succeeding as a manager."

I smiled warmly at him. "I'm sure you'll do a fine job, James."

He grinned at me, then stacked my cup and a large plastic-wrapped cinnamon roll on a dark green tray. "Hopefully my professors feel the same way at the end of the semester. There you are, ma'am, and your grand total for today will be $10.81." He said it like one of those television game show hosts, and I was amused.

I handed over my money. "If you serve them their coffee in such a charming manner, I'm sure they would have little choice but to take you seriously."

He chuckled, leaning his palms on the countertop. "They don't take too kindly to bribes, ma'am."

My eyebrows jumped. "Neither would this-" I glanced up at the menu sign "-this Starbucks company either, I'm sure. I didn't mean that your professors shouldn't _pay_ for their coffee. Bribes are not honorable, James, but there is a world of difference between a bribe and a demonstration."

He laughed. "You're a clever one, ma'am. Now leave my career planning alone and go enjoy your latte before it gets cold."

I inclined my head to him with a smile and wandered off to the corner table near a large window overlooking the parking lot, settling into the chair and making myself at home. There was something incredibly calming about the place - and very welcoming all on its own, with or without the friendly student clerk named James. I glanced up and found him already wiping down the counter with big, confident strokes of a towel. Hardworking and charismatic, he was, indeed, a prime candidate for success.

Then I breathed a deep sigh. I had nowhere to go in any kind of hurry. I could stay here until Starbucks closed, if I wanted to. A string of bells on the door rang to announce a few more customers for James to serve while I reached into my bag and pulled out _The Scarlet Pimpernel_, and in between occasional bites of the delicious cinnamon roll and cautious sips of the very creamy latte, I began to read.

It was immediately engaging. Baroness Orczy, the author, painted a vivid picture of both England and France during the late 1700s. The first few chapters made me smile, because of the ingenious way this Scarlet Pimpernel foiled the French guards while smuggling members of the condemned monarchy into England.

Then onto the stage swept the flamboyant actress, Marguerite St. Just, now the Lady Blakeney - wife to the useless fop, Sir Percy Blakeney, who showed up in the shadow of his charming lady's brilliance and proceeded to play the part of a fool. She, in turn, insulted him openly before the entire company in a small wayside tavern, and Sir Percy took it goodnaturedly - even laughing at himself!

Bemused and intrigued, I grew more and more absorbed by every page when a voice drew me from Revolutionary France to modern-day New York.

"Excuse me... This is probably going to sound really stupid, but you wouldn't happen to know where I could find Xavier's School for Gifted Children, would you?"

Slow to emerge from such an enthralling tale, I looked up and found a well-built, dark-haired man with a hard-set face and intense blue eyes standing before me.

"Hm?" His words didn't register right away, but when they did, my gray eyes widened and I looked him over sharply. I didn't sense anything wrong with him - which was a good sign. Then I offered a little smile as if to make up for my naturally suspicious nature, and I set down I book, sitting up straighter.

"I do know where it is," I answered quietly, conscious of a few heads turning our way at the subject of the mutant school. "May I ask what interest you have in it?"

He briefly touched his fingers to his forehead, as if he'd given himself a mental kick. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and drew forth a wallet, its silver badge prominent and glinting in the light.

"Detective Stabler. I was actually looking for someone there, a Miss Regan Wyngarde. I believe she's engaged to a Mr. James Howlett, otherwise known as 'Logan'. I got in touch with her father, and all he said was that she was at the school. Trouble is, I have no idea where this school is."

My hand, which loosely held the warm French Vanilla latté, began to shake as my wide eyes flicked from his badge and back to his face. A shiver raced down my spine: What would the law want with Logan's fiancee?

I hadn't seen Logan in awhile, but there were plenty of rumors flying around the mansion - too much gossip to stop one's ears to. Logan and Jean had terrible trouble in their relationship, and I think Scott Summers was somewhere in the middle of it. There might also have been meddling with minds and memories, due to the outside influence of some villain: I'd tried not to pay attention to the details, and now I wished I'd taken in every available shred of information. Shortly afterwards, Logan struck up a relationship with a woman named Regan, and they were headed on the fast lane for the altar.

That's all I knew.

Frowning, I closed my book and tucked it quickly in my bag. I slipped the strap over my shoulder and picked up my latté, then nodded to him, deeply troubled.

"I'll take you there. I'm headed that direction anyway, Detective."

He looked grateful for my assistance. We crossed the Starbucks, and as James called a farewell that I couldn't remember, I smiled vaguely in his direction and pushed open the glass door. My heart was in turmoil: I love the law, and I couldn't imagine ever deliberately hindering them, but Logan was someone I considered a friend. I'd never met Regan, but one could only imagine how dangerous the girlfriend of a mutant with claws might be.

I clamped down on my imagination.

"Um... it's not too far from here, really; just a couple of miles," I informed my new companion offhandedly as we crossed the parking lot. The gray sky had turned to charcoal in the gathering darkness. "I usually walk, but I imagine you brought a car. We could take that instead, if you wish."

He gave me a tight smile that was supposed to be friendly. Detective Stabler's face was so hard that I wondered if he was capable of much more than that.

"Just guide me there, please," he said, opening the door to a navy-colored car - I don't know what model it was. "I knew it was close, but my GPS locator was a little off. I'm grateful for your help."

After the slightest hesitation, I slid into the seat and pulled the bookbag to my lap. He closed the door after me.

The interior of the car smelled of musky cologne and artificial fragrance of some kind - which my sensitive nose traced to a small blue tree-shaped piece of what looked like cardboard dangling from the rear view mirror. But it was only my nerves that made it difficult to breathe.

In a moment the detective opened the driver's side door and climbed into his seat, buckling up. As usual, I didn't bother with the seatbelt.

He gave a dry laugh - probably to alleviate the tension in the car. "I think I hate this part the worst, when I have to find these people and let them know something bad like this has happened... It just never gets easier."

A lump tightened in my throat as I sat there, holding tightly to my bookbag. After a moment, I set my latté in the cupholder beside another cup of stale coffee that looked as if it'd been there for days. I swept an unhappy glance over the crumpled fast food bags and wrappers on the floor, testament to a hardworking detective who didn't take time for much else.

Lead sank into my stomach, and I wished I'd resisted the temptation of that cinnamon roll. I felt so sick.

"Turn that way," I said miserably, pointing to the left as the detective expertly negotiated his way out of the parking lot and into the evening traffic. The gentle hum of the car engine filled the space between us and stretched my nerves tight.

We were just a couple blocks away from the Institute, and he'd have found it eventually if left to his own devices, but I felt like a complete traitor nonetheless. Why had he decided to ask me, a complete stranger, if I knew my way to the Institute? Did he know who _I _was?

Knowing that I was visibly upset, I looked askance at the detective. "Are... did they... are they in trouble?"

He raised a brow and shook his head, his eyes glowing white from the oncoming headlights. "Oh no, not at all. I just need ask miss Wyngarde a few questions..."

The air hissed out of my lungs and I leaned back against the headrest while he continued. "You see, two nights ago, my partner and I found a body in the park, and we're waiting on the results of the DNA test. But the ID on the body had the last name of Wyngarde. We believe it was this woman Regan's mother. Now, as a detective, my first gut instinct tells me the father did it, so I need to question Miss Wyngarde and find out if her father had any motive... any reason to do it." Shocked, I lifted my head again and stared at him. "If so, he could also be the one who murdered three other elderly women AND two younger women. The only connection we've been able to make between the six women is that they all had the same eye color. IF this guy is doing it, and his daughter has her mother's eyes, there's a good chance she could be next on his list."

I gulped. I didn't know whether to be relieved that Logan and Regan were in the clear or saddened worse by this unexpected news. Either Regan's father was a monster or this detective was horribly paranoid, and I couldn't help wondering what an awful profession it must have been to keep law and order in New York City.

Swallowing hard, I looked out the window to hide my transparent expression and to wipe away an unexpected - and very unwelcome - tear without the detective's knowledge. My heart ached for Regan and the detective both. I took a deep breath as we drove out of the business district and into a far more green - and, in my opinion, beautiful - section of the city. I pointed down a side road as we approached it.

"That's the Institute," I said quietly. "With the uh, the black iron gate." I took a shaky breath, then queried for the sake of conversation, "What color were the eyes?"

"Some of the others said they could see a slight hint of blue in them," replied Stabler - and I assumed that, by "some of the others", he meant the other detectives he worked with. "But to me, they were all a very pretty shade of green. I don't see too many people with that eye color. My guess is: The father killed the mother, then when he sees someone who reminds him of her, he kills them too. Which is why I think this woman's life may be in danger."

I took all this information in through a kind of veiled fog. This was why I didn't watch the news: Crime of that nature, especially within one's own family, was so unheard of in Narnia that I remained extremely sensitive to it.

I remembered the time I'd wandered into the mansion lounge and happened upon other mutant children there, watching a movie called _Amistad_. It was about a slave ship before the time of the American Civil War, and the movie was incredibly graphic in portraying the suffering of those poor slaves. After a few minutes of observing their plight in absolute horror, I'd gone running out of the room and nearly blundered into the dark-skinned, white-haired Ororo Monroe, imploring her to do something to help those people; stammering so badly through pouring tears that words tumbled over each other in an incomprehensible mess. Even after Storm managed to calm me down and kindly explained what a movie was, and that the movie _Amistad_ was a recreation of a historical event which had taken place hundreds of years ago, I had been brokenhearted and dismal for a week. Then my nightmares worsened for some time after that.

Warriors are not immune to suffering. For a healer - and for a healer from a more innocent land such as Narnia - it can be infinitely worse.

I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window as Detective Stabler drove on in silence. We followed the gentle curves of the road until at last the mansion loomed before us in the darkness, gleaming with lamps and the lights shining through the windows.

I stared at it through misty eyes. The very sight of Xavier's Institute made an impression even on me, but it was the detective who spoke.

"Wow. Now THAT is the kinda school I always wanted to go to as a kid. I just got stuck with city public schools..."

I gave a wistful smile. "It is quite nice, yes."

Detective Stabler rolled to a stop before the gates, and he kindly waited while I climbed out, keyed a special code into the number pad, and returned to my seat. The gates swung open before us, and he took us to the parking area located to one side of the mansion.

As we exited the car together, he looked at me over the top of his vehicle. "Is it possible to maybe get a room in there for a few nights?"

Taking a deep breath, I nodded without much expression and gently closed the door. "While you talk to... whoever you need to talk to, I'll speak with Ororo Monroe. I'll have a room prepared for you by the time you finish up, and I'll bring you some food. You look absolutely exhausted," I added, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes for the first time. "If you want to take an early nap, feel free."

He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows jumped in surprise. "Yeah, I suppose I could always talk to her in the morning. I haven't slept in days... Thank you, ma'am. You've been nothing but kind and helpful. If there's anything I can do to repay the favor, just let me know."

"The Professor always welcomes visitors," I answered, regaining some of my usual composure now that I was back on my home turf. "Even weary travelers who are just passing through."

He nodded gratefully at that, then followed me as I led the way to the front door. I suddenly realized that his long silences were due in part to his incredible exhaustion, and my heart ached with compassion. I glanced sideways at my companion and found his gaze on the ground, and were it not for his strong, sturdy frame, he would have been plodding wearily up the walkway - like a zombie, the mutant children would have said. I resolved then and there to take care of him.

We ascended the steps and I swiped my ID card through the reader, then opened the door and stepped into the mansion. I waited for the detective to enter before closing it again behind him. By then, my compassion was tempered by natural wariness as my protective instincts towards my new family took center stage.

"I would like to know, though, what your personal feelings are on mutants," I said. "If they unnerve you at all, you'd best know that these halls are full of them."

At that very moment, a little blue boy raced around the corner, glanced over his shoulder as if anticipating pursuit, and then darted past us without even noticing Xavier's visitors - caught up in some giddy chase, no doubt. Stabler, to my great relief, merely chuckled.

"I have no problems whatsoever. One of the first things they teach at the academy is never to discriminate. Although, I can't say that I've ever met a mutant personally."

At that, I had to smile. I turned, still smiling, towards the detective even as I walked ahead of him, leading the way into the mansion.

"You just did," I answered, amused by the situation. "I'm a mutant, Detective Stabler. My name is Violar, and I've been at the mansion since August."

I had the pleasure of watching his determined, jaded, steely blue eyes lighten with a flicker of wonder as he stared at me. He couldn't seem to find words to answer, but none were necessary. Even if I hadn't possessed a Danger Sense, his reaction spoke louder than words.

I led my guest down the corridor and pointed out a room through an open doorway. "That's the lounge. It's an ideal meeting place, and you may wish to conduct your interviews there. And if you will wait here, I'll find a room for you as well."

I showed him inside the large, high-ceilinged room. He glanced around and took in the cozy, inviting atmosphere: Shelves of books lined the walls, a small refrigerator was kept stocked with liquid refreshments (along with a higher cupboard to keep alcoholic beverages out of reach of the students). Two couches were situated perpendicularly with an oak end table and a small lamp between them. A low coffee table and a fancy rug separated those couches from a couple of comfy chairs - ideal for curling up and reading in. All the seating subtly faced a medium-sized television set that rested on a wall shelf beside a healthy selection of movies.

A slight shift in my Danger Sense told me that Detective Stabler was pleased, even before he smiled and took a seat on one of the couches. Instantly the comfort of the couch seemed to take a toll on him, and his eyelids grew visibly heavy.

"Thank you," he said more softly.

It was deeply touching to see the detective that way. He came to Xavier's bearing such a great burden, and between a little basic hospitality, the atmosphere of the Institute, and a soft couch, he was beginning to relax. I gazed at him sympathetically, grateful once more to be a part of this wonderful place.

"Stay here and rest," I urged gently. "I will take care of all the arrangements."

He nodded and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Poor man. I quietly slipped out of the lounge and wondered if he would be asleep by the time I returned.


	47. Night Rain

I found Storm in the library, gazing out one of the large picture windows at a dark gray-skied night. The Weather Channel was on the television, but the sound was off, and several newspapers - all the weather sections from several newspaper issues, I noted - were spread over the tables.

"Lady Monroe?" I questioned softly.

She turned with a smile, her eyes an unusually striking shade of blue. "Hello, Violar. Tell me, do you think we could use a rainstorm tonight?"

I was a little taken aback. "I... well... I don't know. I guess it hasn't rained much lately, but I hadn't really taken notice."

Storm gave a sudden smile and beckoned me toward the window, opening one of the lower glass panels. "What do your senses tell you?"

She knew I was a centaur, but she'd never asked me about the weather before. A strange giddiness took hold of me, and I stepped forward eagerly and leaned to the window. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, testing the air.

A furrow lined my brow as I concentrated. "It's autumn, but it's unusually dry out there." I opened my eyes and looked at her questioningly.

Storm laughed softly. "Exactly. We just came out of an abnormally hot summer. All those-" she indicated the papers with a wave of her hand "-say that our rainfall was too low this year. Generally I do not like to interfere, but... there is a good chance of rain tonight anyway."

"Why don't you like to interfere?" I blurted out before I could rein in my curiosity.

She looked sideways at me. Those blue eyes were captivating: No wonder Angel spoke so highly of her. "You ought to think about attending the ethics classes here, Violar. You would learn much about our world - and about when it is wise to use our powers and when it isn't. Aside from the fact that these people may lose their jobs if their predictions turn out wrong too much of the time," she waved in the direction of the Weather Channel, where a fellow in a steel-blue shirt and a gray tie seemed to be pushing a green ribbon downward over a map covered with numbers, "there are natural weather patterns that should not be disturbed. I try not to interfere more than I must. Tonight, it should be fairly safe, since they've predicted a thirty percent chance of rain."

With that, Storm gracefully raised her arms, and her eyes glowed brilliant white. I tore my wide-eyed gaze away from her and looked out the window, and the clouds shifted restlessly. Within seconds, rain began to drip down on the mansion, spattering in a slowly increasing pattern against the windows and the roof.

I had to remember to breathe. It was a beautiful sight: This powerful white-haired mutant gently coaxing a storm into being. I swallowed hard as she began to come out of her trance-like state, and by then, the rain was coming down in earnest.

"Beautiful," I murmured as she turned to me once more. "Will that... fix it?"

Storm shrugged. "It will bring us closer to normal," she replied. Then she smiled again. "There may be more snowfall this winter than anyone predicted."

I laughed. The dignified Ororo Monroe was almost mischievous about it.

"Why was this year hotter than usual?" I wondered.

"The Earth goes through natural heating and cooling cycles that span several decades," she answered. "Right now, we're in a mild heating trend that has these people scrambling for answers and formulating theories - even putting forth drastic ideas about how to remedy the situation." She nodded at the Weather Channel. "Before much longer, we'll probably reach a sudden cooling to balance things out, if the weather holds true to pattern, and all those drastic plans will be for naught." She looked intently at me. "You should do some research on it."

"Sounds like you already have," I remarked.

She chuckled. "When one can control the weather, it helps if one knows all the science behind their specialty elemental powers."

I smiled and lowered my eyes. "Of course. Thank you for that demonstration, and thank you for allowing me to play a small part in it."

Storm smiled, and I looked up as she came closer to me. "You're welcome, but I must admit that I had my curiosities about you. From what I've heard of your people, you spend much of your lives out-of-doors, and surely you would have extraordinary senses in regards to the weather."

I laughed. "Well, I always know whether or not to take one of those umbrella contraptions on my afternoon walks, if that's what you mean."

A corner of Storm's mouth quirked upward. "I may surprise you one of these days."

I giggled. "You're going to give me a terrible case of paranoia, and these fine New York citizens will wonder why this lady carries an umbrella on bright sunny afternoons."

We shared a laugh. "There are greater eccentricities in this world, Vio-"

Suddenly we broke off at the same moment. I felt a horribly dark tug in my Danger Sense, and Storm tilted her head toward the open window, listening. There was a soft crash in the forest underbrush beyond the courtyard.

"Someone's out there," I said quietly. "Someone... evil."

"Not anymore," replied Storm. "Looks like the rain beat them off. Nevertheless, I'd better check with the Professor."

I nodded and stepped back, then suddenly remembered. "Lady Monroe, we have a guest here at the mansion. May I put him in a room?"

"Of course. Choose any room on the right side of the upper floor." Storm and I were already heading for the door, and fast. "Who is he?"

"A police detective who came here because..."

A sudden horrible possibility crashed down on me with such force that I stumbled, my knees suddenly weak.

"Oh Aslan, I can't be." I swallowed hard, my mouth very dry, and Storm gripped my arm with a concerned expression. I looked at her imploringly. "The intruder... He might be trying to kill Logan's fiancee. Will you please make sure someone stays with her..."

"Say no more," commanded Storm. "Go and settle the detective. The grounds will be secured within moments, although..." She tilted her head to one side as if listening. "The Professor already knows about the intruder. I have to go."

I nodded quickly and hurried back down the lonely hall, shying instinctively away from the windows. The darkness in my Danger Sense had gradually dissipated, and now it was gone, leaving only the pleasant patter of raindrops against the roof and sides of the mansion to take the wary edge off my heightened senses.

I stepped through the doorway of the lounge and immediately stopped, holding my breath. Detective Stabler remained on the couch where I'd left him, the hard lines of his face softened by peaceful sleep.

A knot lodged in my throat. I hated to wake him; moreover, I hated to give him news that would send his tension and alertness back into the upper stratosphere.

I decided... not to tell him anything. The intruder was gone, but if he were trying to kill Regan, he would be back. And we would be ready for him.

Detective Stabler was exhausted, and he'd function better after a solid nap anyway.

I softly approached the detective. My booted tread was cat-like on the wooden floor. Coming up behind the couch, I pursed my lips as I gazed down at him. Although Stabler was merely a detective, not a warrior, his senses were clearly on the alert. When he felt my presence, he stirred and opened his eyes, staring at me with a keenness that would have fooled most into believing he'd never been asleep at all.

"I'll show you to your room now," I told him quietly. "And I'll bring a tray of food up in a little while, in case you're hungry."

He breathed a deep sigh and stood to his feet, and I offered a little smile as he followed me out of the lounge and down the hall toward a staircase.

"I'd like to thank you again, really," he said to me. "You've been nothing but extremely helpful and kind to me. That's a very rare thing to find these days, ya know."

I felt suddenly relieved. I'd made the right decision in not telling him yet.

Something about Stabler's obvious appreciation of the mansion warmed my heart, and I smiled at him as we climbed the stairs.

"You're very welcome, Detective," I answered in a gentle tone, conscious of the polished wooden railing sliding beneath my hand. "Around here, though, you're going to get spoiled, in a really good way. You'll find many generous and kind souls who will be more than willing to take care of you. This school is..." I looked up at the ceiling, searching for adequate words. "It's an oasis. A watering hole. You come here, you get filled up, and you take away something beautiful with you when you leave again to venture in the outside world."

He accepted that with a bemused smile and understanding in his eyes.

We arrived one of the rooms, and the door was already open. Detective Stabler came to a stop and surveyed the spacious interior: A nice twin-sized bed (I don't know why they call it a "twin" bed when it's only big enough to accommodate one person) with a blue-checked bedspread and four large pillows, plush light blue carpeting, a soft chair and a lamp in one corner, a window with navy-colored curtains that trailed almost to the floor, and a table with two chairs near one of the walls. There was also a countertop with a microwave, a coffeemaker, and a tray set with upturned glasses and a pair of coffee mugs - just in case.

It was incredibly welcoming, I had to admit.

Detective Stabler laughed, somewhat awed. "Wow... better than my apartment..."

Laughing goodnaturedly as I remembered the inside of his cluttered car, I said, "Well, it's clean - and nicely decorated." Indeed, such a full range of shades of blue was pleasing to the senses. The rainstorm pouring outside added to the soothing atmosphere.

If I weren't mistaken, however, the rain was coming down with greater ferocity - probably to discourage any unwanted visitors, I guessed. Bless Storm's thoughtfulness: I would sleep easier tonight as well.

An idea occurred to me - something that would help the detective relax. It would be risky, I knew - far riskier here in New York than it would have been in simpler, more innocent Narnia. But the door was open, and Detective Stabler needed the help unwinding after running for days on adrenaline and determination alone. I couldn't ignore that. I'd been a warrior centaur who knew how it felt, and I'd been a healer centaur for too long to ignore a need I was capable of fulfilling.

I hesitated momentarily, then crossed the room and tugged a chair loose from the table. "Sit down a moment, if you please."

My voice sounded rough-edged and tense in my own ears, but New York had taught me to be wary and nervous. But Detective Stabler didn't seem to notice my apprehension, and he sat down without question. At once he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Thanks again," he said to me. "And you don't need to bring me anything to eat. I'll be fine. I just need a few hours of sleep, and then I'll be all back to normal."

I was grateful for his extra conversation, which gave me a little courage. I nodded and set my hands on his shoulders, which were knotted rock-solid with tension. I winced, then began to massage away the stress, forcing the tight muscles to loosen and relax.

"By the mane, you'll need more than a few hours, Detective. Sleep until tomorrow morning. It's best to have a clear head when dealing with these things and..." I had to stop and think carefully for a minute, still massaging his shoulders while I wondered what I was getting into. I didn't like it - it was upsetting stuff, and while I hated the idea of deliberately immersing in such gory details, there were people all over this world who had to deal with murder and crime of this nature all the time. The detective was one of them. I steeled myself. "Who knows. A fresh pair of eyes might catch something you've overlooked. If you like, I could review the case and the details and see what happens."

A sighing groan was his only response. He leaned into my hands, encouraging me to continue. "Maybe," he mumbled. "You're very good at this... That feels great."

I smiled a little, though I paid closer attention to my Danger Sense - and the emotions of my guest. I continued as long as I dared, then ended my ministrations a moment later. "Alright, get some rest. You'll sleep better after that, I promise."

He nodded slowly, rolling his shoulders as my hands left them. "Alright, I'll sleep until morning."

I couldn't help being amused. I'd left him little choice.

Still smiling, I stepped around to face him and offered him a hand up. "I had some practice," I answered quietly. "Centaurs..."

I broke off suddenly, realizing what I'd been about to say. I didn't want to reveal my heritage just yet, even though it seemed harmless enough. Perhaps he would forgive my slip... or not even notice.

When he didn't seem to acknowledge my strange remark, I smiled again. "Sleep well, detective. I'll see you first thing in the morning."

He offered a smile and a weary little wave as I stepped out the door and closed it gently behind me. I paused momentarily, contemplating how well everything had turned out, before walking down the mansion hall and descending the stairs. I returned to the lounge and found my bookbag and latte on the coffee table - right where I'd left it. My latte was cold by then; I'd have to nuke it.

I carried it to the kitchen, deciphered the buttons on the microwave and managed to warm the liquid, then drank it down. That latte was delicious.

Then I wandered to the familiarity of Angel's room - careful not to wake the sleeping Jay - and curled up in the corner with my blanket and pillow. Between the warm drink, natural end-of-the-day exhaustion, and the rain still coming down on the mansion, sleep was not long in coming.

I woke up before the break of dawn. I pushed myself up and looked around: Jay was still sleeping on his stomach, his reddish wings rising and falling with every soft boyish snore. I glanced out the window: In the deep blue light, I could see that the storm had dissipated overnight. Drips and drops came down from leaves and branches outside in a delicate autumn symphony as I stood up and smoothed my rumpled skirt.

It was going to be a lovely morning.

True to my word, I went immediately down to the kitchen and quickly fixed a breakfast tray: Scrambled eggs, bacon, two cinnamon rolls, and hot chocolate: The coffeemaker remained, unfortunately, a difficulty and a mystery. But I had yet to meet anyone who complained about hot chocolate, so I figured I was fairly safe with that choice. I carried the tray up to the Detective's room and knocked softly on the door, in case he was still sleeping.

"Come on in," called his masculine voice from within.

Balancing the tray in one hand, I cautiously turned the knob and opened the door. The detective was just buttoning up his shirt, and I noticed he'd taken the time to make his bed. Clearly he'd been awake for awhile.

"Oh, hey!" I started at the eager note in his voice, then found him eyeing my breakfast tray hungrily. "You didn't have to do that... but thanks."

I paused in the doorway, pleasantly surprised by his warm reaction to what I considered usual hospitality. I smiled at him.

"You're welcome! It was no trouble at all," I said, stepping into the room. I shut the door with my foot and set the tray on the table. "Besides, since it's morning, I still have to eat too. If you have to eat and rush off to start your day, that's quite alright, and that's more or less what I prepared for. But if you'd like company for breakfast, I don't have to be anywhere for another hour and a half."

He gave me a warm smile and sat down at the table. "So how was your night?"

"It wasn't bad." I glanced sidelong at him while I set out two plates, distributing breakfast between us both. "I can't complain, really. I imagine that in your line of work, nightmares aren't uncommon... are they?" I favored him with a questioning glance before returning to my preparations, placing napkin-rolled silverware beside each plate.

His face hardened subtly, and I almost regretted asking the question. "I deal with killers and rapists on a daily basis... I'd be lying if I said it doesn't get to me sometimes. Thing is, I have to deal with it. It's part of the job."

He shrugged it off, just like that. I slowly took my own seat across from him. My mind was whirling, and my powerful sympathy on his behalf had resurfaced. Before I could even think of what to say, he picked up his fork and started eating.

"Wow, this is delicious... I might have to stay here longer now, just so I can do this again."

That was unexpected... and incredibly flattering. I dropped my head, laughing and rubbing a hand over the back of my neck.

"God, what sort of garbage do you usually eat for breakfast, if you react like that to scrambled eggs? I mean, we are talking the bare necessities of _life_ here." I looked up again and smiled with genuine warmth - and perhaps a hint of mischief - and he grinned back at me. "You haven't lived 'til you've tried my omelettes," I added with false narcissism, which quickly disintegrated under more laughter. Then I picked up my silverware napkin and unrolled it, selecting a fork from the trio.

Detective Stabler laughed with his mouth full - and didn't answer for the same reason. I paused with my fork poised over my plate, watching him as he ate. The detective hadn't said grace. I wondered if I should stop him and remind him, then thought better of it and smiled: There were other ways of doing things, and Detective Stabler wasn't the only New Yorker I'd observed who ate without thanking Aslan first. I lowered my eyes and silently blessed Aslan for his care and provision, then took a bite of scrambled eggs. They tasted quite ordinary to me, and curiosity about the detective's life again got the best of me.

"So... how do you deal with it?" I wondered. Then I made a dismissive gesture with my fingers at my own disorganized train of thought. "I mean, your life. Your job." I lifted my eyebrows. "What is your outlet, when it becomes just too much to handle?"

Detective Stabler chewed thoughtfully through a bite of cinnamon roll, his brow deeply furrowed. At last he gulped. "Well, that's a tough one to answer really. With the things we have to deal with, I think the real question would be: When is it too much to handle? I mean, we have husbands and fathers who murder their own wives and children... Mothers who do the exact same thing. We don't WANT these things to happen, but they do, and we have to handle it. I guess what keeps me sane is knowing that I'm doing some good in a very bad world."

I sobered deeply, then poked at my cinnamon roll and mulled over his words.

"Nothing like that ever happens in... where I'm from," she answered quietly, narrowly skirting a reference to my home country. "I mean... never." I looked up at him, puzzled. "I mean, we have... what you could call crime, but never within one's own family boundaries. What drives these people to such... depths of depravity, I don't know, and I don't _want_ to know."

The detective nodded gravely. "Even as long as I have worked on the force, I couldn't tell you why these things happen. Every case seems worse than the last."

Slicing my fork through a section of cinnamon roll, I continued before the mood could be brought down too heavily by the conversational subject matter. "You were right about one thing, though. You _are_ doing some good in a very bad world." I smiled absently. "It'd be no different for one of these X-Men here. All heroes have to get their hands a little dirty, and it hurts... but look at what we're able to accomplish." My smile grew as I warmed to my subject. "Seeing a free world, where children can play without fear, is worth any sacrifice, and at least nightmares are relegated to nighttime hours. Right?"

Detective Stabler paused in the middle of a strip of crispy bacon and stared at me, somewhat bemused. I frowned curiously back at him, but his momentary confusion passed and he nodded.

"Right... of course. Well..." He looked down at the remains of his breakfast, then glanced at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I must speak with James Howlett and his fiancee. I have a case to work."

"Mm!" I shook my head in protest and reached across the table, staying his hand with my own. "They aren't going anywhere at the moment, detective. Please finish your breakfast first... for me. It would be a shame to see this good food go to waste."

He looked torn. Part of him wanted to insist on leaving, but the other half of him relented - probably between the idea of more food and my shameless remark, which made him feel somewhat obligated to do the morning fare I'd prepared for him adequate justice. At last he sighed and nodded, then took up his fork and began eating at a much faster pace.

I was relieved, and I smiled. "Thank you, detective. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it helps your mind function better." So I had been told by various members of the mutant community, but it sounded good right then. "You wouldn't want to overlook an important clue by accident."

He grinned with his mouth full and gulped down the hot chocolate. A few bites later, he was all done - before me. He stood up, then glanced apologetically at the table.

Instantly I rose. "Leave the dishes to me," I insisted. "I still have to finish breakfast. But before you go, there is something I want to tell you." I explained briefly about the intruder we'd had at Xavier's the night before - leaving out the details of how the storm came about.

The detective's steely eyes widened, then narrowed. "How come you didn't tell me before?"

"Because you needed your rest, and our unwelcome visitor didn't want to stick around in the rain," I said evenly. "Apparently climbing slick walls wasn't what he'd had in mind. Ororo Monroe had everything under control - trust me. If there had been the slightest concern on my part that Regan Wyngarde - or anyone else here - wasn't safe, I would have told you immediately."

He scowled, heading for the door. "I would have had a chance to arrest him."

"No, detective... He was gone far too quickly," I assured him. "Any pursuit in the rain would have been very difficult. Please, detective, you must believe me," I implored. "I know what I was doing."

He shook his head, but he relented enough to give me a wry smile. "That you do, Miss Violar. I wouldn't have rested until I caught him, regardless of the odds."

A little relieved, I hastily added, "He'll be back, detective. If he wants to get to Logan's fiancee, he won't stop trying until you catch him. Now that you're rested and well-fed, you'll have a much better opportunity to lay a trap for him."

At that, Detective Stabler's smile warmed with admiration. "You're a clever one, Miss Violar. I'll do that." He reached for my hand and pressed it kindly, and I felt the lines of tension easing from my face. "Take care."

"You too," I said more softly as he left.

I finished my breakfast alone, somewhat thoughtful. Detective Stabler had given me much to think about, and I still couldn't help wondering how wise my choice to keep him in the dark about last night's incident had been. Nevertheless, I'd made my decision, and the detective had reaped the benefits of a refreshing night's sleep and an unhurried breakfast. He'd needed that.

I stacked the dishes on the tray and carried it downstairs, then loaded the large dishwasher and started it. Afterwards I met up with Alisha in the lounge and had a long discussion with her over tea. I asked about job possibilities, and she advised me to wait until after the Christmas season.

"New York shoppers are a little nuts around this time of year," she explained.

That was concerning. "What causes that?"

"Oh, it's just... like a kind of fever that hits everybody all at once."

I sat up straighter. "There has to be a way to trace where such a fever comes from. Could it be something in the water... or perhaps the air?"

Alisha laughed. "No, no, it's not like that, Vi. It's temporary insanity... but all because of the holidays. Everyone here is under the impression that Christmas isn't Christmas unless you can have the most stuff under the tree, so they all race out and rub elbows with everyone else in a mad dash to collect the most stuff first."

I relaxed with a little chuckle. "It almost sounds like fun."

"It would be fun - if everyone didn't turn into old codgers over the whole business, which they do. They all start growing green fur and getting that odd, wicked smile you know so well."

I blinked. "I do? No I don't," I retorted.

Alisha slapped her forehead with a laugh. "You don't know what a Grinch is! Stay here." She bounded out of her chair and darted from the room, and she came back a few minutes later holding a hardback children's book by Dr. Seuss. "Read that, and you'll understand what I mean."

"Alright," I said doubtfully, staring at the odd cartoon character with long fingers on the front cover. "If you say so. Anyway..."

"Yeah, anyway," the redheaded mutant broke in, "I might have a connection that would help you. She'll probably need some help come January anyway. How does a position in customer service sound to you?"

"I don't know," I answered. "What would be required of me?"

After Alisha explained that customer service representatives basically helped shoppers with various problems become happier shoppers without any problems, I warmed to the idea. Alisha promised to look into the position for me.

"One other item in the meantime," she said, suddenly nervous and hopeful. She twisted a lock of her red hair around her finger. "Would you be willing... that is, would you be interested in... in being my roommate?"

My eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Her face brightened instantly. "Deadly serious. I know you haven't really had a place to stay..."

I leapt out of my chair and smothered my friend in a tight hug. "Thank you, _thank_ you... I'm so grateful..."

Muffled giggling reached my ears, and Alisha returned the hug. "You're welcome. It'll be fun to have you for a roommate! Let me get the place ready, and you can move in whenever you like after... a week."

I drew back. "Thank you so much," I breathed fervently. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You just did," replied the other girl.

Our teatime ended shortly afterwards. Alisha had classes to attend, and I spent the day studying a number of subjects in Xavier's library - interrupted only by breaks for food, my usual afternoon walk in the park, and a long, hard session in the Danger Room. My excitement over the thought of being Alisha's roommate temporarily pushed all else from my mind - until the wail of a siren sent me to the window.

It was early evening, and there were three police cars with flashing red and blue lights in Xavier's driveway. Detective Stabler was among the officers, and an angry-looking man with his hands fastened behind his back was leaning against one of the cars. A scowling Logan was out there as well, his big arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of a young blonde woman with short hair. Conflicted emotions of pain and worry were written in her face.

I hurried out of the library and down the hall, then flung open the front door and darted down the steps. Logan glanced over his shoulder and saw me first.

"What's going on?" I asked, hurriedly approaching them.

But it was Detective Stabler who answered me.

"We caught him on the premises," he said, coming up to me. I looked at the detective, then glanced past him at the angry fellow. One of the police officers was forcing him to sit in the back of a car.

The detective's voice brought my attention back to him. "You were right, Miss Violar. He did try again, and fortunately I was ready for him. I had him in cuffs fifteen minutes ago, then waited for these guys to get here."

I swallowed hard and nodded, turning my gaze towards Logan and his fiancee. She was like a frightened deer, and she looked up at him and whispered something to him. Logan nodded gravely and escorted her back into the mansion, and the woman seemed to be crying.

I sighed and shook my head, lowering my eyes to the ground. I couldn't fathom what it was like to have a tyrant like that for a father.

"I really appreciate all you've done for us," I said quietly, looking up at Detective Stabler. "I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances."

"Heh... yeah." He came forward and placed his hand on my shoulder. "But thanks for everything, Violar. This was one of my more enjoyable cases."

I mustered a little smile at that. "You're welcome to return anytime you need a break," I offered.

He smiled regretfully. "In the city that never sleeps, crime never sleeps, either. But who knows."

"Everyone needs a vacation so they don't lose their strength, detective. You only have so much to give, and if you don't stop once in a while and take care of yourself, you won't be able to press on."

"Ah... maybe." He pressed my shoulder and stepped back. "Stay safe."

"You too," I urged as the three police cars began to drive away. The detective went to his own dark green car and climbed in, and he waved at me through the window before he disappeared through the gates.

I was left standing alone on the front lawn, listening as the engine noise died away. Then I slowly turned my back on a glorious orange sunset and went inside my home.


	48. Ethics

I'll admit to avoiding the Professor.

I'd heard nothing but wonderful things about him. Every mutant in the mansion sung his praises. Mutant history considered Charles Xavier one of its key players. The struggle for peace between humans and mutants and equal rights for mutants owed much of its progress directly to him.

Despite all that, I'm not a trusting centaur by nature. I've learned many lessons the hard way in my short life. But living in the mansion was not something I took for granted, and I was becoming so attached to it that I was desperate to do anything to remain there - even if it meant going out of my way to avoid Professor Xavier.

And I did. On several occasions.

My conscience smote me for it, but I didn't care. At least, not for a long time. The Institute was becoming my home, and many of its occupants were more than friends. A handful of them were my family.

To a centaur who's been deprived of this closeness for too many lonely years, they were important enough to cling to at all costs.

Finally I felt I couldn't put it off any longer. It was becoming an ethical dilemma for me. The Professor had surely heard of my presence by now, and I didn't want to have to face him if he sought ME out and made me explain why I'd been avoiding him. His reputation for kindness seemed to cancel out that hypothetical scenario, but I couldn't discount it completely. I was pretty sure not many people lived in his mansion without coming to see him first, or at least within a few days - or weeks - of occupation there. But months? That was probably unheard of.

So one quiet morning, I trotted down the hall - and turned back for a hasty retreat towards the safe haven of Angel's room.

"Coward," I snapped at myself. Resolutely I wheeled and headed right back to the Professor's office, and I stood before the door, closing my eyes and gathering all the courage I could muster. I rehearsed a pretty speech, mentally went over centaurian protocol, and straightened my back. And knocked. And realized the door was already open a crack, so I poked my head around the doorframe and saw the Professor himself sitting behind a desk and a stack of correspondence. He looked up at my knock, and my heart flopped like a beached fish.

"Greetings, Professor." My voice was remarkably steady, but it was probably due to the kindness I felt radiating from him already. "Am I disturbing you?"

He smiled. Warm gray eyes, about the same color as my own, crinkled at the corners as they met mine. "Yes, come in. How may I help you?"

His smile was so warm that I easily glossed over his strange answer to my question. I couldn't help smiling back, and I ducked under the doorframe and stepped more fully into his office - revealing, I knew, my golden equine form. To his credit, the Professor didn't betray the slightest hint of surprise.

Professor Xavier was an old man, but he didn't _seem_ like one. There was a sharp mind, a quick wit and an astonishing amount of energy contained in that aging body, though he was confined to a wheelchair. His shiny bald head was crowned by a ring of gray hair, and several shallow lines of wisdom embedded in his forehead added to his aura of inherent nobility.

With a confidence I didn't quite feel, I trotted up to his desk and clasped my hands behind my back. I swished my snowy tail out of nervous habit.

"I have not yet had the opportunity to meet you," I began, tucking one foreleg in a centaurian bow - which served the duel purpose of paying him proper respect and hiding my tense expression. "I wished to remedy that as soon as possible." Well... it _was_ the truth. "I have heard much about you, and first and foremost I would like to say that the hospitality of your students has been second to none. I am called Violar, and I am from the land of Narnia, which some say is another dimension. Jean Gray performed a blood test on me and discovered that I carry the mutant gene. I am... a mutant," I added. I was still getting used to the idea myself, but this particular point I was anxious to make. It seemed my most legitimate basis for legal residence. "I wish to request... that you might allow me to stay here, at the mansion."

There it was - all out in the open. I stopped breathing.

Charles Xavier's smile told me much about his generous nature, and I relaxed - but only slightly. I twisted my fingers together behind my back and picked my hooves up one at a time, turning in place as he wheeled out from behind the desk. It was a move designed to put me more at ease, I realized, and to do away with the stiff formality I was showing him. The Professor was remarkably astute.

"Of course you may stay here, my dear." Inwardly I almost collapsed with relief. "This is a place for everyone, to live together in peace... It is what I created this school for. So of course you are more than welcome here."

My heart ached at the sentiment flowing from his words. It was as if he extended open arms to the world, to take in the lost. Most mutants were. But there were others who were _not_ mutants who were also lost, and that same invitation he offered to them as well.

"Professor, I cannot thank you enough for this," I said earnestly. "Peace is what I have fought for my entire life, and if you would have me..." I swallowed hard, then steeled myself and continued. I wanted to be as indispensable as possible to the X-Men, even if it meant taking a position I particularly disliked. "Where I come from, I am... a warrior," I said, but I wasn't proud of it. "I am skilled with the sword and the bow, and I am a formidable opponent in hand-to-hand combat. I do not _like_ to fight," I added with some distaste, "but I am well acquainted with the necessities brought on by those who seek to destroy peace and freedom in all its forms. I would... I would place my sword at your command, if you would have it." So saying, I drew the sword from my right sheath - my mother's sword - and placed it point-down before him, my upper body bent in a half-bow to the Professor.

He closed his eyes and returned the bow. I had the strongest sense that it was a bow with a mixture of respect and understanding. The Professor was a remarkably gentle man.

"I believe everyone deserves a chance," he was saying in his smooth rich voice with its thick French accent. "I myself do not like violence either. Sadly, there are those out there who wish nothing BUT violence, and I have discovered that firsthand on more than one occasion. But as I said, you are more than welcome here, dear."

I liked how he called me "dear". "Thank you so much, Professor... my gratitude knows no bounds." I meant that from the depths of my soul. With the imminent threat of rejection lifted, I softened quite a bit and resheathed my sword.

With a genuine serenity that was particular to him, Professor Xavier wheeled his chair over to the window and looked down at the courtyard. "How long have you been at the school?"

The cries and laughter from happy children at recess drifted to my ears, and I could imagine the wonderful scene he was observing long before I trotted to his side and saw it for myself. This was a sight I had grown to know and love during the short time I'd been at the mansion: Children playing in the sunshine.

"A few weeks," I replied. "I've wanted to see you for quite some time, but I haven't had the opportunity before now." I looked sideways at him, smiling warmly. He seemed interested, so I went on. "The mansion is wonderful. In particular, I have been greatly enjoying your vast library. I've also been introduced to several of the mutants, and they have become my good friends." I gazed over the courtyard again wistfully, thinking of one mutant in particular: Angel. "Very good friends. My real family in Narnia died years ago, Professor." I cleared my throat. Why did I have to bring up my past? It was always a mistake. "For most centaurs, that's no trouble, as the herd takes the place of a family, but... It's a long story. What I have found here, at this school, has been like the family I never held out hope of finding again. I've changed, a lot, since I arrived." My brow furrowed. "I don't know yet why Aslan sent me here, but it feels right."

The Professor simply listened, nodding once in a while, with the same gentle little smile on his face. He was a man of deep thought and few words. But when he spoke, his words had tremendous impact. "Well I for one am glad you are here, my dear. You are a very welcome addition to this fine school."

I warmed all over. "Thank you, Professor. Though..." I looked down at the wood floor. "Your school is wonderful enough on its own, and you do not yet know me, if I may say so. It is... a tremendous honor... to be here. I hope I can be worthy of it."

"My dear, I do not HAVE to be psychic to know that you have a good heart," he replied, and I had the impression that he was laughing inwardly at me: His gray eyes were twinkling. "The simple fact that you befriended Logan tells me that."

To my utter horror, I broke into _giggles_. When I sensed no condescension whatsoever for it, I set a hand against the windowpane and laughed freely.

"Your Logan Howlett," I forced out between chuckles, "is priceless." I flicked my white tail enthusiastically. "He was the second of the mutants I met, and... that was great." I turned a genuine smile to the Professor. "I suppose you know we're friends because of your psychic abilities?"

"Yes." He was still smiling at me. "I do not usually snoop into other people's minds - after all, it's quite rude - but there are some things that I do not have to intrude to know. They just come to me automatically."

I smiled back at him. "I am not afraid of you, Professor. I have little to hide, and whatever you ask of me about my past, I would freely tell you. I have great respect for you already, though I have not met you before. Your eyes tell a great many tales, and your students speak highly of you, and your influence is visible everywhere here, as it should be. I believe it is largely due to you that this place feels like home to me."

I paused, and he gazed calmly back at me - somehow interested without intruding. This was a nice change from the type of leadership I was used to. I realized then, to my great consternation, that I subconsciously expected him to be like the leaders of the Council Ring in Narnia. It was what I was familiar with as far as superiors went.

Sometimes, it is a wonderful delight to be wrong.

"Logan is a good man, deep down," Xavier remarked.

Greatly encouraged, I took the opportunity to gush about one of my favorite subjects - the many virtues of Xavier's Institute and its inhabitants. "He is, Professor. Many of the mutants are." I retreated briefly into a deeper introspective. "I have met several of them so far - Logan, Jean Gray, Tessa, Kurt Wagner, and Angel. All of them have these... such tragic stories," I noted, shaking my head. One of my hooves thumped against the floor. "But I find that where there is great suffering, there can be great integrity, if the resulting humility is stewarded correctly. The fact that so many of them have turned out the way they have can be directly attributed to you, Professor, I'm quite sure; since the one thing they all have in common is that they attend this school, and that is to your great credit." I inclined my head to him - a gesture he returned, but he continued to watch me quietly, knowing or guessing that more was on my mind.

He was correct. "Because of that, I would like to ask one more thing of you. Might I... be allowed to attend this school, to learn whatever it is you have to teach? I know that I will be expected to work in order to earn my keep, and I am fully prepared to do whatever you ask of me. I have seen what your tutelage has done for others, and I would strive to be like them, if it is at all in the realm of possibilities."

Charles Xavier grinned brightly at me, as if thoroughly delighted. "Of course, of course you may attend the school, dear. In fact, I have an ethics class in half an hour. If you like, you can attend."

All concerns that another student might be a burden on him or the Institute vanished. "It would be my great honor," I declared solemnly, focused on him and ignoring the children playing out the window. Then my natural girlish enthusiasm took over. "Ethics! I should be delighted. Ethics are very important to me, and I would love to learn your point of view. Then let me know where to begin as far as work in return goes. I can start today." I laughed quietly, swishing my tail. "I'm not doing anything else."

He was quick to wave that off. "No work is needed, dear... But if you wish, you can assist me in replanting my garden..."

"Your garden, Professor! I- I'd be delighted!" Then I patted the small satchel at my side. "I have a few things from Narnia, if you like... various herbs and flowers... They might diversify your collection a little."

He smiled brightly - too brightly. "Ah, yes, that sounds like a marvelous idea, dear."

I looked over at him then, still smiling. But I caught something - perhaps _sensed_ something - that I'd missed until now, being too absorbed in my own concerns about how I'd be received. I cocked my head, narrowing my eyes intently as I studied him. For a moment I was worried that I had said something wrong, but then I felt like whatever was the matter was more physical pain-related.

I ditched speculating. "Is everything alright, Professor?" I queried finally.

He nodded. "Yes," he replied in a soft, deep voice. "I just have a rather bad headache. I used a lot of my power earlier, and it took a lot out of me."

I was still concerned about him. I put a comforting hand over his. "Would you like something for it?" I asked in a gentle tone, intentionally keeping my voice low. Loud noises and headaches don't mix. "I have a few herbs, but if the headache is related to the expenditure of your strength in relation to the use of your powers, I might suggest this cordial instead." I withdrew a tiny glass vial from my satchel.

The Professor's gray eyes went to the cordial. He seemed most interested in that. "Thank you," he said, reaching for the vial.

I caught his hands in mine. "Just a drop," I warned, taking care to keep my voice quiet for his headache's sake. He nodded, and I released the cordial to him, watching as he carefully let a drop fall into his mouth. Then he wheeled over to a counter and a small sink, and there he fetched himself a glass of cold water.

I tucked the cordial safely away. Once he finished the glass of water, he set the empty glass on the counter, looking visibly better.

"One of our teachers, Emma Frost, died earlier," he explained. "I used my power to bring her back, but it took a great deal of energy from me."

My eyes widened and I stared at him in blank shock. A new respect for the Professor - and his powers - fell over me, and I was speechless with amazement.

He wheeled towards me again. "I am afraid if I were to do that again, it would kill me."

Fear gripped me by the throat. I turned away to hide my deteriorating expression and trotted over to the sink, biting my trembling lip as I soaked a cloth in cold water.

Returning to the Professor's side, I gently sponged his brow. He submitted to my ministrations without a word. Taking another step forward, I leaned down so that I was eye to eye with him, and he gazed back at me. I had the feeling that he knew what was coming before I said it. "Please be very careful," I urged quietly. I swallowed hard, furrows creasing my forehead. "We... we need you."

He smiled at me, his expression amused and genuinely appreciative. "Oh my dear, I have a feeling you will all be stuck with me for a very long time..."

My own smile brightened. My relief was instantaneous. "I was afraid you were going to say that, Professor," I said with mock gravity, and I heaved a deep, woebegone sigh.

Charles Xavier laughed, and I grinned, delighted to have made him laugh. I took the washcloth back to the sink, gently swishing my tail from one side to the other. I couldn't help being pleased with everything at that moment. Professor Xavier was every bit the man the residents of the Institute spoke of, and more.

Xavier's voice brought me back to the present. "Are you ready for your first class?"

I spun around and nodded quickly. "Yes, Professor."

"Alright then," he returned with a twinkle in his eyes as I trotted slowly to his side, "they will be coming in the door in about two seconds."

Immediately I heard the sound of approaching feet coming down the hall. I only had to wait two heartbeats before they were through the door: A lot of students, most of them teenagers. They looked at me curiously as they took their seats, and I smiled back at them, but I didn't know any of them yet. I recognized a few faces I had seen around the mansion, but the names belonging to those faces I had yet to learn.

Smiling appreciatively at the Professor's impeccable sense of timing, I paced away from the Professor, wheeled to face him, and tucked my long limbs to sit, centaur-fashion, on the floor. I was part of the class, I felt like I _belonged_; and a little shiver of anticipation rippled through my spine as I fixed an intense gaze on the Professor.

"When we last left off, we were discussing when it is and is not proper to use our power for personal gain," Charles Xavier began. "Do we have the right to do so, JUST because we HAVE the power?"

I waited silently to see if there would be an answer to the Professor's query, interested to hear what the students had to say on the subject.

A hand shot up. "With great power comes great responsibility," declared the boy belonging to that hand.

The Professor smiled. "That is very true... but I am afraid you have seen Spiderman one too many times, dear."

I wanted to giggle, but I contented myself with a smile: Laughter was disruptive to class atmosphere. I had heard a little about the movie - enough to place the quote - but I hadn't seen it yet. Movies were still a relatively new thing for me, and I had a lot of catching up to do - and not enough time to do it in.

Although the quote was unoriginal, Professor Xavier took it and ran with it. "It is true, that we must be responsible with the gifts we have been given, but there does come a time when we must decide whether or not we should use it for ourselves, or try and solve our problems like everyone else."

This was a subject of particular interest to me, since I'd had a run-in with it - from a very different point of view. I raised my hand.

"Professor..." I glanced around hesitantly and cleared my throat, suddenly unsure of my own boldness. Then I voiced my question. "At what point must even power for another's good be curbed, to avoid... control? What I mean," I went on, scouring my thoughts for a proper explanation, "is that... some people don't _want_ to be saved. What can be done for them?"

Charles Xavier regarded me calmly. "That is a difficult question dear... One for which I do not have an answer. It all depends on the situation."

I smiled regretfully and nodded, subsiding at once, but my gaze reflected admiration. It was a good answer, even if it were a little disappointing. But it was surely the wisest thing he could have said.

That was the only question I could think to ask for the time being; certainly there were arguments over what the definition of "good" was, and using your powers for such, but I dislike those with great fervency. If one was so blind as to question the rules of what made "good" "good", then... it was hardly worth time or effort to even formulate a satisfactory reply. Legality and logic were useless if they were not balanced by kindness and a caring heart; when one possessed all those things, answers would arise when they were needed: No sooner, no later.

Perhaps the same held true for the question I'd just posed. I pursed my lips, frowning and immersed in deep thought, even as I remained attuned to the continuing ethics class. This was incredibly fascinating stuff.

"I want everyone to think about what I did, and use it as an example," the Professor was saying. "I was faced with death, but, as a powerful telepath, I knew that I could transfer my conscious mind into the body of a mentally crippled man who would never recover. Does that make my decision right though? Should I have done it just because I could? Or should I have let nature run its course and accept death?"

THAT jarred me out of my muses faster than almost anything else could have. my head jerked upright and I fixed the Professor with a startled, blank stare of disbelief. Then disbelief gave way to puzzlement, and finally deep contemplation set in. Mind-swapping - if that's what you wanted to call this - was not something I had ever been faced with before: It stretched the boundaries of my reality, since it was beyond the realm of imagination in Narnia for such a thing to be considered. In my world, it wasn't even remotely possible.

At last I returned my gaze to the Professor. "I don't know. Why did-" Suddenly I raised my hand, having forgotten that small formality completely. I glanced quickly at the class, a hint of an apology in my eyes, before looking again to the Professor. "Why did you... do this? Does... does the... _other_ fellow... is he still somehow _there_?"

Professor Xavier didn't seem concerned about my small breech of etiquette in the slightest. "The other man was mentally handicapped. He basically had no brain function whatsoever."

Scowling in deep thought, I slowly nodded. "Then how..." I raised my hand a second time, not bothering to glance back at the class, being far too immersed in the subject at hand. "How was he still alive?"

"Well I suppose he was kept on life support systems. He was perfectly healthy in a physical sense, but mentally, he was dead." I nodded in mute bafflement, not knowing about life support systems either. The Professor returned his attention to the rest of his class. "So the question I ask is whether it was wrong of me to transfer my mind into his body... I would like you all to think about that, and write a nice essay about it. I expect them all on my desk by tomorrow. You are dismissed."

I quickly climbed to my hooves, somewhat startled, and watched the class hop down from their chairs, gather their textbooks and notepads, and file out of the room, a low murmur of cheerful conversation about that afternoon's lesson following them out.

The Professor must have read my confusion - either in my mind, or my expression, or both. Perhaps it was a combination of those things. "I apologize," he said to me. "My classes are usually longer, but with Scott back, the Danger Room seems to be the students' favorite destination... They do love training with him."

I gave the Professor a bemused smile, curious about exactly which method he'd employed to decipher my thoughts. I know I can be rather transparent sometimes - which can be frightening - but I couldn't help wondering _how_ transparent.

"Longer? Wow. Well I for one am glad it ended when it did. My mind is already spinning in impossible circles..." I rubbed a hand over my chin as I went over my mental notes. I had a few subjects to research in the library for the evening. Then I added offhandedly, "I haven't met your Scott yet, but I've heard his name a time or two. And I suppose you'd like my answer in writing also by tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, that would be fine. As for Scott, he was was my very first student. He was the first one that I brought here, and since then, he has been the leader of my X-Men. If I had to call him anything, I would call him the closest thing to a son I have ever had."

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. I'll make it a priority to meet him then, Professor."

I thrashed my white tail, my thoughts still in turmoil from the Professor's challenging concepts. Now I was quite eager to hear what would happen with the class and their answers on the morrow. I was already composing a response of my own, mentally, but I wouldn't congeal it on paper until the evening, when I had settled down enough to write. I'd borrow one of Angel's molted feathers for the task and probably pilfer some fruit juice from the kitchen to use for ink.

Smiling a little with satisfaction at my ideas for preparation, which should be remarkably simple, I pushed all these things - concepts and plans - aside and gazed attentively at the Professor. I wanted to let him know something of what this place was beginning to mean to me.

"If Scott is as a son to you, Professor, I'm sure that he will become a special friend of mine as well. Already Kurt Wagner and Tessa are, are like... almost a second set of parents to me, and since Kurt Wagner and I both follow Aslan - God - that makes us brother and sister. Logan and Jean are some of the first mutants I met at this school. Logan introduced me to many of your technological and culinary marvels, for which I am most grateful for; and Jean was the one who discovered I am a mutant. Despite the fact that she's been quite busy with her new family, she's really taken me under her wing, in many ways, and she's promised to teach me quite a bit about this world that is so new and largely a mystery to me. And Angel..." I gave a deep sigh and set my hand over my heart, my expression earnest. "Angel... there aren't words for Angel, Professor. Angel has been _everything_ to me."

A thoughtful frown appeared on the Professor's brow. "I have not yet been able to meet Angel, regretfully. I will certainly make it a point to do so."

I nodded soberly. I knew the story: Angel had arrived at the mansion at about the same time that the Professor was killed by Jean Grey - who was, at that point in time, taken over by the Phoenix. It was actually Angel's coming that prompted Storm to keep the school open, because she realized that the Professor's legacy would go on if she did. People like Angel needed this place of refuge.

How wonderful it was, then, that the Professor had come back shortly after that. How the Professor's return to life was accomplished, though, was the part of the story I hadn't known much about - until this afternoon's class. Things were starting to make sense.

"He..." I glanced over my shoulder at the open doorway, then lowered my voice and spoke intently. "He could desperately use a father figure in his life, Professor. His own father has put him through Ettinsmoor and back because of his mutation, and Angel doesn't know how to deal with it. It's sent him off in a thousand directions, and he's going to mess up his life... he's already in the process of it..." I rubbed my forehead. The thought was so weighty and painful that it gave me a headache. "But inside, here," I added, tapping my own heart, "I found a core that surprised me. He has somehow maintained a level of innocence, and he genuinely cares about people - which also gets him run over all the time," I noted darkly. "Those who enjoy control take advantage of him. I don't know WHAT to tell him, half the time. I'm not... really... I mean I can't take the place of his father, Professor. I feel completely helpless to do anything for him."

This last observation caused my shoulders to slump, and I gave a sigh. Voicing it somehow made everything more poignantly true. "And he _does_ want help. He _is_ trying. But he needs guidance, _so_ badly. He gets into so much trouble on his own and he doesn't know what to do about it. And I wish I had all the answers!" I added with sudden emphasis. Then I subsided again. "But I simply don't... I just don't."

Xavier considered that. "Perhaps you should tell him to come see me... And I will talk with him, maybe have lunch or afternoon tea with him, and get to know him better."

My tension faded to relief, and then calm composure took over. I clasped my hands behind my back. "I'll... yes, I'll do that." I nodded shortly and suddenly smiled. "Thank you, Professor."

His next words surprised me. "You have a wonderful smile, dear. I am glad I could bring it out."

My eyebrows jumped. I flushed and lowered my head, shuffling hooves in mild embarrassment. Compliments were not something I was used to - especially compliments that weren't superfluous flattery; especially compliments from anyone in a position of power over me - but I could tell Xavier meant it.

"Thank you, Professor. You're very kind." I smiled softly and lifted my gaze again to his.

The Professor gave a little laugh, heartwarming in its genuine nature. "Plus, I enjoy helping people. It is what I made this school for in the first place."

I brightened. "Your generosity towards other people is very evident, and that mindset seems to be catching. This entire community - I know of no better word for it, Professor - has adopted that same mentality, or so it seems to me from what little I know of it. All of them, have been, in some way..." I shook my head and swallowed hard. "They're all wonderful, and special, each in their own way. That is why I've wanted to join you so badly. I don't intend to leave for Narnia for a very long time, now. Now I just want to be a part of... this."

A sentence from a recent conversation floated to the surface of my memory: _"I dread the day you have to leave, Violar."_ How I'd longed to hear such words someday! And they had come from a source I'd least expected - and most wanted - them to come from: Angel. I softened inside. I had made my decision to stay some time before that particular conversation, but now... now I _never_ intended to leave. Nothing could drag me back to Narnia.

Charles smiled and looked up at me, perhaps guessing some of my thoughts. "Well I am glad you decided to stay with us dear... As I said, you are a very welcome and fine addition to the family..."

_Family_. My heart felt fit to burst, and on impulse I reached down and clasped his hand warmly between both of mine, my gray eyes filled with more gratitude than words could properly define.

"_Thank_ you, Professor... thank you so much..."

He smiled back at me. It was plain, from the look in his eyes, that he found this part of running the Institute the most rewarding of all. "No, you owe me no thanks at all. Thank YOU for being a part of this place."

I held his hand tighter, struggling valiantly not to cry, but when I looked at him it was almost too much for me: He was so kind, so gentle, so _accepting_, that I could hardly bear it. Regardless of the fact that he was my superior now - the equivalent of the herd leader of the Council Ring - I teetered dangerously on the brink. With a supercentaurian effort, I pulled myself together, nodding rapidly and smiling warmly by way of an answer through a fine sheen of glittering tears; but I said nothing in reply. I couldn't. I wouldn't risk tears if I could help it.

Squeezing his hand, I cleared my throat and tried to regain some of my inherent centaurian dignity by drawing myself up and letting my expression fall into neutrality. Still, it was a flimsy mask for my true feelings. As yet unable to speak, I nodded again and patted his hand as I held it between both of mine.

But I knew he could sense my emotions plain as day. A knowing look dawned in his gray eyes as he placed his other hand over mine. "It's alright... I know how you feel. You needn't say a thing."

Melting a little more, I lowered my head, and my shoulders dropped. Professor Charles Xavier was not a man who demanded that his students stand on ceremony. He was, first and foremost, a father. And he reminded me so much of my own father...

My knees buckled and I sat down on the floor beside his wheelchair, still holding his hand tightly while his other one sheltered in mine.

How relieved I was that I didn't have to say anything, because I was still unable to form words that were not laced with tears. With a shuddering sigh, I leaned over and pressed my forehead to the back of his hand, closing my eyes.

I trusted him. Completely.

How long I had been searching for a home, for a family, since I lost my parents twelve years ago in tragic circumstances and found myself suddenly alone. The Council Ring could not provide me a home either, since I was an outcast - by choice. I believed the direction my own kin had taken was the wrong one, and that by allowing pride to enter the Ring, they were dismissing wisdom. I, and my parents, would not stand by and watch its departure without a protest. Thus, after my parents died, I was alone.

Until now. Thanks to this man - Professor Charles Xavier.

I pressed his hand again, grateful beyond expression. I'd already known I'd found my family and my home here, but to hear him say it - to hear _the Professor himself_ give breath to those words - it did something to me. Whatever it was stole my power of speech and thought.

It was a long time before I lifted my head from his hand and opened my eyes, and I gazed out the window. We stayed like that for awhile, reveling in mutual silence. At last I inhaled deeply, like a person waking from a deep sleep, and looked up at him, feeling like a foal. He smiled fondly down at me. Suddenly I didn't feel it would be presumptuous to ask the question that had been burning on my mind for a long time. When I ventured to speak, my voice was soft and slightly husky with unconcealed emotion.

"How long will it be, before... I am one of the X-Men?"

He chuckled, but it was not unkind. I had the impression that a lot of students asked him the same thing.

"Oh, well that takes quite a bit of training dear... But I am sure if you spoke to Scott, he could help you along with it. I would be delighted to have you on the team."

I nodded absently, mentally storing away that bit of knowledge. In truth, I hadn't been terribly desperate to know the answer to that particular question at that very moment; I was just dying for a subject change and seized on the first thing that came to mind.

I did, however, want to be one of the X-Men.

Without warning I burst into laughter. The image of myself, a centaur, in one of the black leather suits came to mind - due a comment recently made to me by Logan. I bit down on my lip to keep more giggles from coming, but that was futile: I giggled through my teeth and shook my head, grinning wildly.

"Thank you," I said when I could speak again. "I'll make a point to visit Scott straightaway. Jean did promise to teach me some modern combat techniques, and when Tessa returns, I'll have to see about learning technology. But I'll get there eventually, Professor." I looked up at him with warmth and merriment in my eyes.

He chuckled, but perhaps he sensed that I was serious on the subject and needed reassurance that it was alright to talk about this so early after my arrival at Xavier's. "You might also meet with Ororo," he advised. "She is team leader when Scott is unable to perform his duties. And I believe he is on vacation with Emma at the moment, so yes, she would be team leader should anything happen and the X-Men be called out."

I perked up. "Angel mentioned her! Thank you very much. I'll see her right away."

So saying, I climbed laboriously to my hooves and straightened the leather jerkin over my white blouse. "I should turn in, Professor. I have an essay to write." I gave him a brilliant smile. "I'll see you then in the morning, perhaps. Do you make it a habit to rise early?"

"I try to wake up early, to teach my morning classes, yes, but sometimes Ororo or Jean have to cover for me... After all, I AM an old man."

He laughed, and I giggled. "I sleep a little at night, since I usually stay up to stargaze, and then I wake up early and take a nap in the afternoon. Centaur habits are hard to break after a few decades."

I put one hoof forward and affected a neat bow, which the Professor returned with a kind smile. Turning, I trotted towards the door, my tail swishing easily with my light heart. I paused at the door. "Good night, Professor. Thank you for everything. Sleep well, and may the peace of Aslan be with you in your dreams."

"Goodnight dear."

His warm smile was one I took with me as I passed through the door and trotted down the hall, whistling a tune to myself. It was a tune I hadn't tortured myself with in years, because my father used to sing it to me.

At that moment, it wasn't painful. I wondered how many other centaurs could say they had three fathers in their lives. I had three: Aslan, Kurt Wagner, and Professor Charles Xavier. Professor Xavier was a father to everyone at this school: Even the way he spoke of Scott Summers, who was a grown man, was indicative of that fact. I was just the latest lucky recipient of his generous heart, but it meant the world to me... mostly because I treasure everything I've been privileged enough to run across again in my life: Home, family, happiness, peace, and joy.

I could tell there was much more to come.

All these things followed me down the hall and into the library, where I planned to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening studying - excepting a break or two for sustenance, of course. I had a lot of work to do.


	49. No Right Answer

After a long night spent poring through countless volumes in the library and spoiling several of Angel's molted feathers to scratch out a brief essay on copier paper, I echoed the Professor's sentiments about the too-early class hours.

Raking a hand through my unruly mass of dark hair, I stumbled over my own hooves into the Professor's office, stifling a yawn and joining the small knot of students who shared my destination. Very few of them looked bright and alert. Most seemed rather indifferent, and a few, like me, were a little mopey and had purple circles under their eyes, evidencing either a late night studying or a natural preference to rise later.

Nonetheless, I gave a bright smile when I saw that the Professor was already there, looking none the worse for the hour.

"Good morning, Professor," I greeted him. He smiled back at me when I trotted up to his desk in single file with the rest of the students. No one seemed too bothered that a giant centaur was among them: They all had their own degree of unique mutation and were more accepting of diversity among their ranks. Nevertheless, I was careful not to smack any of them with my whip of a tail or trod on their tennis shoes with my crushing hooves.

Somewhat nervously I handed in my paper, penned in my signature flowing cursive. Then I stood back and twisted my hands together, wondering what he would say of my work. A stack of papers was growing on his desk.

Perhaps the Professor sensed my anxiety and was testing my character. Or maybe he was curious to see what everyone else had come up with first. Whatever the case, he fished mine out of the pile _last_ - I could easily tell which one was mine, as it smelled of grapes - and, with a little frown of concentration, he perused in a minute what had taken me hours to carefully craft.

I'd memorized the entirety of my essay after putting so much effort into it, and I mentally ran through the words while the Professor read them:

_What is death? When does a person cease to exist?_

_When one can no longer function for themselves, having lost their very consciousness, I would define that as death in this world. Once the soul has departed the body, death, as we know it, has occurred: In truth, the second part of that person's journey has begun when the soul passes to a place we can only begin to imagine._

_So the taking of the body would be no different than the common practice of heart transplants, or liver transplants: At the expense of no one, it grants the receiver a new lease on life._

_Which may then be used as the justification for such an action. There is something to be said for allowing death to come and letting nature run its course; however there is no denying that the Professor has been given a true gift with his powers of telepathy, and the opportunity to live on existed for a reason. Since it is ingrained in the very nature of every living being to survive, then how can one fault another for doing all he can to survive?_

_In short, I believe there is no right or wrong answer. There are arguments for both courses of action. One must live by one's own conscience, make choices, and live with the consequences - either for good or ill._

_Violar_

I puffed out my cheeks and the cinnamon roll I'd eaten for breakfast turned into a rock when he set my essay down again on his desktop. My fingers were hopeless tangles behind my back. Then his gray eyes met mine, and he delivered his judgment.

"My God... This is perhaps the greatest piece of writing that I have seen in this class... and in a long time, period."

I gasped and staggered backwards, coming to an awkward halt a few feet away from his desk. I was dimly aware that one of the students moved hastily out of my path so as not to get stepped on. Both hands flew to my throat and I stared at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"P-Professor... are you serious?!" I blinked a few times, trying to wrap my mind around what I'd just heard. That was the last thing I'd expected him to say. Maybe I really had stayed up too late and was having a dream of what I hoped would happen, but the way that cinnamon roll was hopping around, I seriously doubted it. Besides that, I would have expected a critique, or a nod of approval, maybe, but not... this. "It's... I mean... did I get the right answer? I really didn't know what to say," I admitted, my brain reeling. "A lot of these concepts are new... Transplants, for one. I'd never heard of them before last night, when I ransacked the library for information. I... I don't know what to say." So saying, I fell silent, still completely bewildered.

Students were beginning to murmur, wondering what I'd written. I glanced back at them, then up at the Professor, who was still watching me.

"The right answer was that there was in fact no right or wrong answer," he said, addressing not only me, but the entire class. "Do you see what I mean? You are the only one who did not give a one-sided opinion."

I breathed out another tremendous sigh and ran my hand through my hair. "Wow, Professor. I... I... thank you so much."

Class was in session shortly after, but I couldn't concentrate that well. I was exhausted, and relief seemed to sap the adrenaline from my body, leaving me feeling like a giant jellyfish. Professor Xavier explained his views on ethics, and power, and when to use it and when not to. It was great material. Unfortunately, for me, most of it was in one ear and out the other. Only the myriad emotions remained with me, like a painting on my soul, for me to study later.

I was almost happier than the children when class was dismissed. I cantered down the hall, trotted up the stairs, loped straight to Angel's room, and collapsed in a weary little heap in the carpet. I slept like a dead centaur until it was time for dinner.


	50. Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is an interesting American tradition, going back to the days of their humble beginnings in this country; when a handful of intrepid pioneers braved the high seas in search of religious freedom. Upon making the acquaintance of the pilgrims, the native American Indians graciously shared their secrets of survival in this land that was wholly unfamiliar to the newcomers, and in turn, the pilgrims gave what they had to give: The gift of Aslan.

To celebrate this great friendship and the fact that they would indeed outlive the winter, thanks to one particular Indian by the name of Squanto, the pilgrims hosted a feast. That feast became a part of American heritage, and they continue to host feasts year after year at the end of November. The common dish to prepare is a turkey, complete with spicy breaded stuffings, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, and biscuits.

After reading about the true spirit of Thanksgiving, I couldn't help wondering if the meaning - or what Kurt Wagner's German kin would refer to as the Zeitgeist - had been lost somewhere along the way. As I curled up on the couch drinking hot apple cider, observing the flashy high-impact commercials in between football games and the Macy's parade in nearby downtown Manhattan, I felt as if the focus had shifted from Thanksgiving itself to the sales the day after, which start absurdly early. Like, at 4am. Surely families all over were forced to cut short their fellowship and snatch a few hours of sleep before they turned out en masse to take advantage of these irresistible limited-time-only prices on a whole mountain of limited-quantity junk that no one could hope to use in a lifetime.

Why not save the sales for the weekend and let folks hang out with their kin and stay up all night laughing and having a good time? Centaur logic doesn't always apply to this world, admittedly; but on this occasion I could compare our feasts with theirs: It would be similar to holding a festival on the Dancing Lawn in honor of the day Aslan secured our freedom with his ultimate sacrifice, and then having to go to bed early in order to visit the merchants of Beruna Fair before the crack of dawn to purchase goods they'd marked down ridiculously in hopes of attracting a great feeding frenzy of shopping creatures.

The mental picture made me wince: I could just see a lioness and a lady cheetah snarling over a leather pack embroidered with a wild rose, just because it was marked down to 820 coins instead of a thousand. And maybe their forgotten husbands would congregate in the middle of the path outside with dour expressions to mutually bellyache about women and their obsessively rabid shopping habits. Or perhaps they'd all go off to a shooting match and hold a sparring tournament in the arenas, just to have something better to do while their wives bickered pointlessly over merchandise that nobeast needs. Then I imagined the males would all meet in the tavern afterwards to drink ale and boast of their day's exploits until someone recalled that they had a family and stumbled home to bed to sleep off the hangover.

How glad I am that we don't have such customs in Narnia... yet. It's a far better thing to spend an extra day or two working to earn enough coin to buy that special embroidered leather pack at the regular price than to have a personal time limit on Dancing Lawn festivities and a sorry neglect for one's family. One can't even concentrate on loving and having a good time and stuffing oneself full of plum pudding and giving thanks when one has a nagging thought in the back of one's mind about reaching Higgledrum's shop in the marshes in time to take advantage of the Marsh Wiggle's killer prices on the designer fishing creels in Narnia, or calculating how many potions one could afford to buy from Soporus while they were sixty percent off. In limited quantities, of course: First come first serve, and when they're gone, they're gone.

But I guess centaurs aren't the only ones who can forget the true meaning of something so incredibly important, and misplace their priorities.

The mansion was fairly empty: Most of the students had gone home to families and turkey dinners. I was one of the few who had nowhere to go. Fortunately I wasn't the only one: My friend Alisha's parents were visiting distant relatives in a particularly cold and snowy country called Norway, and Alisha's previous commitments to her studies prevented her from joining the expedition.

"That's okay with me," the perky redhead confided, pulling a thick off-white sweater crocheted with primitive artwork depicting moose and snowflake designs over her head. "This time of year, Norway has only about six hours of daylight, tops. It's rather depressing. I like the cold well enough, but the darkness gets to you after awhile."

Remarkable world, this.

We held our own Thanksgiving celebration at the mansion. The Professor lived here, of course, so a whole group of us mutants were only too happy to rise bright and early and concoct a breakfast that would've even set the Dwarfs to begging: Scrambled eggs with peppers and melted monterey jack cheese, and fluffy biscuits with Hillshire Farms' "Lil Smokies" sausages, and fried potato chunks with sauteed mushrooms and onions, and enormous cinnamon rolls fairly dripping with cream cheese frosting, and, of course, orange juice and hot chocolate. Several of the students eagerly carted off a whole tray of goods to wake the Professor with, and I enjoyed a quiet moment alone in the sitting room, lingering over one of those delicious cinnamon rolls and a French vanilla latte while I watched the sunrise make a spectacularly flaming gold and magenta entrance into the world.

I had a lot to be thankful for: Aslan and his endless mercies, and a certain French monarch's continued kindness to me, and the creatures I counted as friends back home in Narnia. Today was just another day to them: And it would have been to me also, if I hadn't come to New York and discovered Thankgiving, which had had its beginnings fairly close to the province of New York.

The mutants here... I cannot begin to describe the depths of my gratefulness for them. If ever a people could give one reason to be thankful, it was them. Kurt Wagner and Tessa Niles, who are my adopted parents; Professor Xavier, who was generous enough to open his home to me and admit me among his students; Logan Howlett, who'd been very kind and supportive of me since the moment I walked through those front gates; Jean Grey, who discovered I was a mutant in the first place; Alisha, who was fast becoming a close friend and was teaching me how to fit in better with American culture - including in such otherwise subtle matters like dress.

And then there was Angel, who was in a class all by himself. He'd saved my life, but he'd done much more for me than that. I pushed my cinnamon roll away and cradled my latte between my hands, smiling into the frothy tan liquid and getting steam on my nose. Yes... he'd done a LOT more, and I'll be eternally grateful. I doubt he'll ever fully understand - not even after I tell him my story and explain where I've come from.

Which I will do, very soon.

There are so many more people from a variety of worlds and times who have affected my life - too many to name. For all of them, I thank Aslan. Their impact in my life and in my memory has left a lasting impression, and I can only hope that I have done the same for them.

Dinner that night was fantastic, held around a giant table in the dining room and served by an elite corps of proficient cooks - Alisha among them. I helped somewhat, but being less familiar with traditional Thanksgiving fare, I had to be content with loitering on the outskirts of this massive undertaking and sampling dishes here and there. It wasn't too bad of a job, as you might imagine, and I was a very thorough tester. _Somebody_ had to do it, and tonight, that somebody was me.

There was turkey, of course, done to a turn, crammed full of homemade stuffing. Alisha wrinkled her nose at the thought of buying stuffing from the store and insisted on doing it the old-fashioned way, which was why there were trays of sliced bread all over the kitchen over the last 24 hours, growing steadily more stale in the open air. She spiced them herself, and once I'd sampled a spoonful, I wanted to hog the whole bowl. Someone had to take it away from me, and it was tucked away in a hidden place - yes, I searched for it and couldn't find it - until dinnertime. It was, predictably, a smash hit.

There were mashed potatoes - a mountain of which I'd peeled for the very occasion - and white gravy, which was my favorite, and brown turkey gravy. There was whole cranberry sauce and baskets of warm croissants, and fresh green lettuce salad with all manner of radishes and cabbage and baby spinach and cherry tomatoes and even tiny little sweet peppers in it. Pats of fresh butter stood at each table end, and for beverages, we served sparkling cider in four flavors - white grape, red grape, strawberry, and cherry. Because I found myself unable to decide _which_ flavor I wanted most, I mixed white grape and strawberry for a delightfully unique combination.

The atmosphere was warm and festive. Mutants I knew - and some I did not know - were gathered around that table, laughing and speaking with hushed eagerness, the very best of their personalities brought out by the sight of the feast that would, very soon, be theirs.

The Professor sat at the table's head, and holding up his delicate glass of cider, he clinked a knife against it. The attention of everyone present was hard to drag from the food, but a reluctant silence fell, and all eyes turned to the venerable Charles Xavier, whose warm smile and the twinkle in his eyes was impossible to resist.

"I have... a few words I would like to share with you," he announced, and there were raised eyebrows all around... and some general consternation. A speech meant a delay in food consumption, and those hearty aromas were enough to kill a person. For my part, I flushed slightly and looked down at my empty plate - the only one of that company who knew what would come next.

The Professor began his litany:

_To stories,_

_To great ones._

_To dreams,_

_To bigger ones._

_To friendship,_

_Which lasts forever._

_To faith,_

_Which moves mountains._

_To love,_

_Which holds the universe together._

_To God,_

_Who orchestrates every piece into a symphony that shakes the stars._

_And to this moment,_

_Which none of us will ever forget._

_To you,_

_Who embody each and every one of those things:_

_Stories, dreams, friendship,_

_Faith, love, God,_

_And this moment._

_All of you are unforgettable._

_All of you have made these things possible for me:_

_Stories, dreams, friendship,_

_Faith, love, God,_

_And this moment._

_I would not be here today_

_Without all of you._

_I would not be where I am today_

_Without all of you._

_My life has been a grand adventure_

_Which I thought would remain a simple dream._

_You were the catalyst God used to turn that dream_

_Into reality._

_So I make this toast to the future:_

_Your future, my future, our future._

_May it be filled with_

_Stories, dreams, friendship,_

_Faith, love, God,_

_And many more moments like these._

He ended, and quiet reigned over the table. Someone's seat creaked. Someone else swallowed. Everyone was watching Professor Xavier intently.

"And I am not the only one who feels this way," said Charles Xavier, smiling with quiet knowing. "Each and every one of us has a lot to be thankful for, but most of all, each other. And the food," he put in with a suddenly broader grin, and everyone laughed. Those deeply charming smiles of his were impossible to resist. "Let us do this dinner some justice."

And everyone did, right gratefully; an instantaneous clatter similar to that of children released from class prevailed.

But I made no move at all. Perhaps it was because I had tested so much of it earlier, or maybe it was only due to the fact that I was so greatly moved; but I made no motion to fill my plate while there was a general uproar of chatter and laughter and a great clanging of dishes around me. Everything seemed to fade into a surreal memory for me, is if I were living a moment already in the past. It was almost too good to be true. This family was exactly that: A family. And I was a part of it. I swallowed in vain at the lump in my throat, then looked to the head of the table.

The Professor exchanged a glance with me, and I smiled back at him, mouthing the words "thank you".

He nodded in return and plucked a croissant from beneath the towel covering the nearest basket.

I hope that you too find much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving.

Aslan's blessings be upon you in abundance,

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	51. Love Is

Alone one night in the chapel, while Kurt and Tessa were still away in Germany, I sat in a hard wooden pew by the flickering light of candles and the soft spotlight gleaming down on the altar and the Tabernacle against the wall.

The soft hush all around me settled my spirit and reminded me that, no matter how much suffering my broken heart brought me, I was still loved... by God; by Aslan. Even though I hadn't been rejected by the one I dared to love, I _felt_ rejected, sometimes. Not mentally or logically, just... inside. The heart doesn't always operate by logic.

Two of the first books I'd purchased once I got the job at Bloomingdale's were Bibles. I'd borrowed the one from the Professor's study and just about wore it out within a few short months, so I'd replaced it, but I also wanted one to call my own. The Bible was full of such wisdom. I suppose it appealed to me even more because I'm a centaur, and our entire culture revolves around wisdom and the constant pursuit of it; but there was more to it than that.

This wisdom wasn't empty, and it didn't stand alone. This wisdom was grounded in _love_.

This wisdom was the wisdom I'd spent my life searching for. The Council had wisdom, but because the foundation of love had been forgotten, pride had taken love's place and it _was_ empty wisdom, to me. Now I was finding the answers to life I sought between the pages of those ancient Scriptures.

And on that quiet January night, I was having such trouble concentrating on those wonderful passages. I was reading, and my mind was absently taking in the words, but my soul was elsewhere. It was wandering lonely paths of recent memory, trying to understand all the concepts of love, because the concepts I couldn't grasp were the ones that were causing me such pain.

I knew what love was. And if I knew what love was, then why didn't it work out the way I thought it would? Had I done something wrong? What piece of the puzzle was I missing? I had to be missing _something_, otherwise I wouldn't be going through this. There's nothing more maddening than to be faced with a riddle - especially one as complex as love - and to know that you should be able to solve it, but the answer continues to elude you.

That's the dilemma my mind was trying to solve as my eyes roved restlessly over sentence after sentence of Paul's letter to the Corinthians. I reached the end of yet another page and turned it out of habit, and my eyes froze on heading of chapter thirteen:

**LOVE**

And then, suddenly, Paul had my full attention:

**"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing."**

I paused to consider that. Paul had a point... and the Council Ring was a prime example of all these wonderful things - fathoming all mysteries and all knowledge, for instance - without love. He was saying, in essence, that the Council - the oldest and greatest of Narnia's institutions - was nothing.

He was right.

For a moment I pondered the significance of Angel's name in the very first sentence - not because I was confused about the difference between the Angel I knew and the angels Paul was referring to, but because Angel's name in that passage meant something deeper to me personally. It didn't seem like mere coincidence that it would be there.

With a little frown, I read the rest of what Paul had to say.

**"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.**

**Love never fails..."**

That last sentence was my undoing, and I buried my head between the pages and wept hot tears on Paul's words. _Love never fails._

I had loved. I had not admitted it to the one I loved, nor to anyone else, because I _couldn't_, but I had loved. And I had a list to go by to prove it:

• I had been patient. Infinitely patient. Sometimes, I thought, _too_ patient.

• I had been kind... even to someone I didn't _want_ to be kind to; it'd have been easier to be jealous and bitter and angry, both to the one I had loved and to the one who had earned his love instead.

• I hadn't envied. I truly hadn't. It had been an awful fight to keep from giving into envy, because in a way I envied one who had taken my place in the heart of another... but I wanted her to be happy, too. I had done all I could to see that wish become reality.

• I didn't boast. I had nothing to boast about.

• I wasn't proud... anymore.

• I was not rude - to anyone, not even in my thoughts.

• I wasn't self-seeking. Only Aslan knew that...

• I wasn't easily angered. What a mercy Paul included the word "easily" in that section.

• I had kept no record of wrongs. There was no reason to... because I cared too much to keep any record of anything that might have been considered wrong.

• I didn't delight in evil, and I hadn't indulged in gossip - and I had scrupulously avoided anything that could possibly have caused trouble for my love's relationship.

• I rejoiced with truth.

• I always protected... By the mane of Aslan, with my very heart's blood, with my tears, with my own emotional agony, with the depths of my soul, I had sacrificed to protect the one I loved from further disaster. I suffered a hundred times worse because of it, but I did it because I loved him.

• And I still trusted him.

• I had hope... in life, at least, but not in love. As I'd told Logan on another night, one cannot be content with a star when one has seen the sun. I'd seen the sun, and I knew perfection when I saw it. I wasn't going to find another sunshine. But I still had family and friendship here at the mansion, and I suppose that still qualified as having hope. And I also had hope that things would turn out alright for the one I loved.

• I had persevered, in love, when all around me modern society promoted the idea of turning one's back on anyone who rejected you, who didn't cater to your needs. The idea of selfless devotion is not widely accepted in this culture.

My love had never failed. If there was one thing these last few months had taught me, it was how to love. Not every item on Paul's list had applied to me before my arrival at the mansion last September, and now it did.

Whoever said love wasn't all rainbows and butterflies was right. Usually love does have its rainbow-and-butterfly moments, though; but love is like a rose - beauty and thorns mixed together. It's easy to love in moments of rainbows and butterflies, but when all you can find is thorns, how much harder is it to keep on loving?

Maybe it was all some kind of test. Life is full of tests that come along when we least expect them. Regardless, I had learned how to love. Learning how to love is the single most important thing anyone can learn to do in life. From that point of view, all I had suffered was a tremendous blessing in disguise.

I lifted my head from the Bible and saw several gray blotches on the page from my tears. I was wiping the last of the tears from my cheeks as I skipped the next paragraph and read Paul's final line:

**"And now these three remain: Faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."**

And I had love. My love had not been in vain.

Faith I also had: I trusted Aslan, even now, and his plan for my life - though I couldn't see what it was.

And hope? Well, it was there, as a promise to a faltering soul. Maybe, thousands of years ago, Paul had penned those words with someone like me in mind. Maybe he knew that these few sentences would soothe a despairing heart and remind her to keep her eyes on the horizon, because something was about to happen that she couldn't yet see: The sun would rise again.

The sun would rise again...

I wrapped myself in my cloak and curled up in a corner of the hard wooden pew, watching candlelight dance in flickering shadows on the walls... and waiting for the sunrise.

My friends, the sun is coming.

Love always,

Zephina Freeheart Wildfire

*1 Corinthians 13


	52. Christmas Eve

King Frank and Queen Helen, the first King and Queen of Narnia, were not from Narnia originally. They were from another world - from the world containing New York - and they brought to Narnia the custom of Christmas.

Narnia is a simple place, populated mostly by simple beasts, and whatever complex meaning the King and Queen might have tried to attach to the holiday was pretty much lost. It became a day of feasting and gift-giving, and a day when Father Christmas delivered presents to everyone.

Christmas in New York is a much different thing, and suddenly everything about Christmas makes sense. This is thanks in part to Kurt's loaning of a Bible to me, and the entire Christmas story was spelled out: About the birth of Christ, about how the creator of the stars became a helpless baby and was born in poverty, in the midst of animals in a barn (how Narnian that is, however), all to reach out to people who, for the most part, never returned the favor and killed him while he was still a young man.

Aslan never ceases to amaze me: The lengths to which he will go for the sake of love, for the sake of saving his creatures, fills me with unspeakable emotion. How could I not love him? How could I not trust him completely? I don't... I try, but I fall so far short. That, too, takes me to the limits of my emotional endurance. And if I don't stop there, I'm going to cry. So I'll stop there.

I spent three days prior to Christmas in Narnia, and half the holiday itself there, partaking of Christmas Eve feasts and gift-giving, and warm fellowship at Cair Paravel with a number of creatures I count as friends. None of them were centaurs, which again caused an ache in my heart; but Devlin the Talking Horse and I took a walk through the snowy woodlands immediately prior to the feast.

"You're not looking as well as the last time I saw you," remarked the bay horse, looking askance at me. I started and immediately forced a smile; some of my mask had slipped a little amidst the quiet of the wintry woods, and that horse is annoyingly perceptive.

"Oh?" I made a bid for feigned ignorance; I really didn't want to talk about it.

Devlin blew softly through his nostrils, and his dark gaze was grave. "Even if I did not know you so well, I could see that your heart carries a secret weight. There is a shadow in your eyes."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, unsettled by his observation. "Um... there is always a shadow there," I retorted defensively.

Devlin snorted rather fiercely and shook his thick forelock aside. "Yes, but it has grown, and you look as if you bear all the burdens of Narnia... or perhaps New York," he said slowly, his penetrating gaze revealing that he guessed something of the trouble.

I couldn't say anything. I kicked at the powdery snow beneath my hooves, my eyes downcast, struggling not to cry. There is no way I can say how much I wanted - and needed - to break down, to collapse in the snow and pour out my broken heart in anguished cries and tears, railing at the cruelty of things I cannot change.

But if I did that, I could not return to New York. And I had made promises I meant to keep, if it killed me in the process. And at this rate, it might. It just might.

Steeling my nerves, I took a deep breath of cold, clear air and straightened to my full regal height of eight feet. "I'll deal with it, Devlin, thank you." My voice was cold as winter; my mask had been restored. I wasn't the least bit sorry. Masks, sometimes, are necessary for survival. "And now, shall we return to the castle?"

I could tell Devlin was disappointed in me, but I hadn't left him any room for argument. We finished our trip in silence. When we reached the edge of the wood, the castle of Cair Paravel came into view, lit with candles and torches until it was as if the whole palace was alight with earthbound stars. Festive flags in all the colors of Christmas flew from every turret. It was a strange contrast to my true mood, but I welcomed it eagerly. I wanted a chance to forget my troubles for awhile, especially when my troubles were entirely selfish.

Cair Paravel parties are always extravagant affairs. Gold silk hangings lined the walls, tied with bundles of pine boughs and red ribbons. Torches gleamed both inside _and_ outside the palace, and candles shone from every window, and the grand staircases were made even more grand with garlands of pine, more ribbons, and more silk. This year, again, I was one of the creatures in charge of decoration design, and this year more than ever, I was delighted about it. I had a few spare supplies left over, which I stowed in a burlap sack. I smiled, sighing at the thought of where those spare supplies would eventually end up. A little bit of Narnia was going to a special friend.

In the grand hall, long tables set on a high dais overlooked the wood floor. The four highest seats were reserved for the Royals, our two kings and two queens, all of whom are quite grown up now. Once the feasting began, there was a continual display of the finest in Narnian entertainment: Jugglers and acrobats and musicians and storytellers and colorfully-costumed plays. The food was too good to properly describe: There were boars with apples between their teeth, and venison, and lamb; four kinds of pie and three kinds of cobblers, and an array of other delicious dishes that I helped plan and prepare beforehand, though a veritable army of cooks resides in the galley of Cair Paravel.

When the feasting concluded, individual musicians formed a band and settled to one side of the hall, and the floor was opened for dancing. The familiar strains of old Narnian songs about Christmas, and the warm glow of firelight, and the soft glitter of jewels and color satiated my senses as if with enchanted wine. The dances were serene, elegant and perfectly choreographed, and every pair of creatures executed a beautiful bow and curtsey before the four thrones when their dance brought them to the place nearest the Four Royals.

I sat out the first few dances until some of the crowd dissipated. King Peter noticed, and I accepted his offer of a dance (strange though it might seem for a Son of Adam to dance with a centaur), for no one refuses a king. He is one of the few who knows my secret, that I can change from a centaur to a Daughter of Eve, so it wasn't so odd in his mind. I danced once with him, after which I excused myself from the hall altogether because... well, I had personal reasons for it.

Alright, I admit: The centaurs had pointedly ignored me and danced instead with other female centaurs in attendance, preferring to forego a dance if they lacked a partner rather than ask me. They never miss an opportunity to remind me that I'm an outcast - not even on a day like Christmas. But dancing with King Peter raised my political value in their eyes, and three or four handsome ones were migrating my direction through the thick masses of creatures. But I wanted no part of these games: I have too much pride to be treated specially on superficial grounds, or used as a pawn to manipulate my king. Besides that, my heart is already lost, and dancing is a painful reminder of that sad fact. Perhaps that explains why my steps suffered, and my conversation was distracted and unintelligent, and why King Peter asked with some concern if I were enjoying myself.

Of course I said I was. It was the truth, for the most part. But my heart was hurting to the point where I couldn't breathe, and as soon as the dance ended and the polite clapping subsided, I trotted straight for the nearest exit, threw open the door, and was hit by a wave of freezing wind and snow. I shut the door behind me so it wouldn't chill the party, then turned and gazed over the ocean under a snowy night.

Christmas is not a day I wish to darken by dwelling on tragedies far beyond my control, yet... it's inevitable, _especially_ at Christmastime. I was glad of the cold air, though it froze the tears on my cheeks and eyelashes. It brought a welcome shock to my melancholy. I'd left my cloak inside, but I wouldn't fetch it until the next dance had ended and the centaurs established new dancing targets.

It worked. I went back inside, well composed, and joined a group of chipmunks and Talking Mice, all three feet tall, in pointless merry conversation, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. But I didn't want to overstay my welcome, and I had presents of my own to deliver to New York. So after my third round of plum pudding and strawberry cheesecake, I wished my friends a good night and departed, carrying a large burlap sack which rivaled Father Christmas' in size.

I had a few things to gather before I was ready to go back. I visited my secret stash of dried wild roses and berries, making sure no one else saw me. I spotted Father Christmas somewhere ahead of me and hurried to catch up with him, then transferred a portion of his pack to mine, and parted with merry farewells. I climbed the mountains in search of a few Edelweiss blossoms, nestling the white flowers carefully in my pack. Then I trotted through the serene snow-covered woods and marveled at the silence winter always casts, like a spell, over the world she inhabits. I felt like the only centaur in existence. There was a faint tinkling of distant bells, and the rush of cold wind in my ears, and the occasional intrusion of some little rabbit or squirrel hurrying across my path, too wrapped up in their own errands to pay me any mind.

Most of the familiar magic fell away when I entered New York, giving rise to a kind of magic unique to my favorite otherworld. And the winter silence remained. I trotted past a lone cabin as a light swirling snow began to fall, and inside the windows I saw a family gathered around a dinner table loaded with turkey and stuffing and pots of mashed potatoes and loaves of homemade bread. They were dressed in red Christmas sweaters, and the youngest child, a little boy, was throwing spoonfuls of ground peas at random targets. One such target was his older blonde-headed sister, but instead of making a fuss, she laughed.

Merry laughter after getting hit by a disgusting green clod of mashed peas is one of Christmas' many charms.

Another log cabin made me pause outside and stare through the windows at a mother and father with two little boys, all gathered around a glowing Christmas tree. A fire flickered in the hearth, and there were plates of sliced apples and freshly-popped popcorn and peanut brittle set out on the low coffee table. But at the moment, all attention had turned to the older son, whom I guessed was about twelve years old. He unwrapped a peculiarly torpedo-shaped brown something-or-other with white laces across the top. Shouts of glee erupted. It took me a second to realize one of the mutant students had referred to the same object as a football.

There was a general racket of excitement from within as both boys pounced on their dad and smothered him with hugs. Their mother laughed and bit into a sugar cookie, then said something to them. I barely caught the words "try it out" before her suggestion was greeted with incredible enthusiasm, and there was a sudden rush for the door.

My heart caught in my throat. Whirling, I galloped madly away, kicking up puffs of snow in my wake, and dashed into the trees. I barely made it to a sheltered glade of wintry bare branches before the dad and his two sons were out in the twilight snow, running around and throwing that football in spirals through the air. The younger son caught a pass, dodged around his older sibling, who slipped and fell. It was hopeless to catch the little speedster now and he knew it, so he grinned, grabbed a handful of snow, and threw it. It hit his brother in the back and didn't phase him, of course. With the football tucked beneath one arm, the younger boy ran between two trees which must have been formerly designated.

"TOUCHDOWN!" came the joyous holler. To celebrate, he spiked the football and purposely fell onto his back, moving his arms and legs to make a snow angel.

_Angel_... I shifted my pack and continued on. I had to go.

I made it back to the mansion. I completed my mission. I stuffed the children's stockings with small presents from Father Christmas, and candy and cookies I had made, all from Narnia. And later that night, I sat on the edge of my bed, watching the snow fall out my window.

I gave a deep sigh and slowed down for the first time all day. I was glad to be back home - to the one place I considered my home. I wanted to stay up, watching the snow fall, but exhaustion overcame me; and the mesmerizing snowflakes changed to little white stars of magic that swirled away through the depths of time. Faintly, as if from far away, I heard the chiming clock bells harolding the hour of midnight, but I had no will to fight unconsciousness. I let it claim me in a cocoon of darkness.

The last thing I vaguely remember was my head falling onto something soft - my pillow, I assume - and then I knew I wasn't alone. A familiar fragrance filled the room, and warm breath was soft on my face. With a little mumble, I curled up like a foal and snuggled beneath my cloak, and I thought I heard a whisper:

_"Come with me, Zephina."_


	53. A Night to Remember

A soft sound nearby woke me. I slowly opened my eyes and sat up. It was dark outside, and the snow was still falling, and a glance at my clock revealed it was only twelve minutes after midnight.

_Twelve minutes after midnight?! I'd been asleep all of twelve minutes, and I felt this awake?!_ A short time ago, I'd been exhausted, but now I was as rejuvenated as if I'd hibernated an entire 24-hour cycle.

I sincerely hoped I hadn't.

I sat up and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. What the soft sound was, I didn't know; there was nothing in my room now, if there had been at all. Perhaps I'd dreamt something that awakened me. I was still wearing my boots, and a gray woolen skirt, and a thick white turtleneck, and a red scarf around my neck. My gray gloves were set neatly beside my pillow, one atop the other, and my gray cloak had kept me as warm as any blanket.

Whatever had transpired in the last twelve minutes, it didn't matter: I couldn't sleep, not now, and I was glad of it. I swung my feet to the floor and stood up, and while I was pulling on my gloves, a vision of miniature white marshmallows swimming in a foamy mug of hot chocolate filled my conscious imagination. A smile formed on my lips as I left the room, closed the door softly behind me, and walked down the silent halls towards the kitchen.

The entire mansion was completely silent. _That's odd,_ I mused. Not half an hour ago, excited mutants had been up - some making last-minute preparations, some gathered in groups for stories or general conversation around Christmas trees, some eating snacks from tables set out for the very purpose. I'd had a terrible time sneaking to the stockings and delivering Father Christmas' presents without being caught.

As for the food, not many of those snacks were nutritionally adequate, so to speak. It was all sugar and fluff on this holiday. It had been in Narnia also, but Narnia didn't have a chocolate fountain for dipping strawberries.

All thoughts of my destination vanished, eclipsed by a new vision: The chocolate fountain. I turned down another corridor and found the room where it had been, vacant except for the feast still spread as if for impending company. There was a plate piled with juicy red strawberries, and smiling I stepped forward and plucked one from the top, held it under the smooth chocolate falls, and covered it completely.

I lost no time in eating it. It was fantastic. It was easily the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Strawberry juice tingled and danced over my tongue like sparkling cider, and I blinked a few times at the dizzying sensation.

A second chocolate strawberry was definitely in order. I only half-dipped it this time. I had just raised it to my lips and nearly took a bite when I was interrupted by the sound of melodic singing. I whirled: It was coming from the tree.

As I stepped closer to the tree, a curious thing happened. The music faded to a few barely audible notes. The tree began to grow. Everything in the room was enlarging at an incredible rate. The strawberry in my hands was also getting bigger, and heavier, and I set it down as it swiftly grew taller than _me_. It looked like a huge crimson mountain dotted with black boulders and covered in chocolate snow, topped with the biggest green plant stem you ever saw.

_Uh oh_. I turned and looked around. Even the table with all its treats and goodies was enormous. Then it hit me: Everything had remained the same size. I, on the other hand, had shrunk.

A shiver ran through me. I was very nervous; I didn't know how I'd gotten like this or what to do about it. I touched my sapphire choker and changed into a centaur. A miniature centaur.

Ooh, this was NOT good.

I galloped across the wood floor towards the gifts, which were now the size of shiny towers in all colors. The entire spread of presents had become a city - a Christmas city, and it would have been beautiful if I weren't so scared at present. My greatest fear at that moment was being stepped on, and I was glad no one seemed to be awake at this hour... and I was praying, hard, that no one WOULD wake up. I judged myself to be about three inches high, if that. Excited mutant children stampeding towards the pile of presents wouldn't even see me.

I arrived inside the city, completely breathless from running a mile across the room. Tree lights glittered off the wrapping paper towers. The music once again surrounded me: Lutes, harps, drums, trumpets, and soft singing. I looked up, because the music was still coming from the tree, and found that all the ornaments - porcelain, plastic, glass, and fabric - had come to life. The drumline was a trio of mice dressed in smart red soldier's uniforms. Sheep standing easily on their hind legs played the lutes and harps, skipping about on their branches and, miraculously, not falling off. There were flawless angels - both men and women - in sparkling white robes who had formed a choir, and their heavenly voices were painfully beautiful. Cardinals and blue jays twittered in the chorus. There were a few felt bears bellowing away on trumpets and trombones, but somehow what should have been chaos blended together into a perfect melody. Rocking horses and reindeer with red noses swayed back and forth on the ends of their branches. A pink ballerina danced and twirled with an interesting-looking soldier who was ramrod-straight, with an oversized jaw.

With a start, I recognized him as the Nutcracker. It was a Christmas story I'd meant to read, but hadn't had time for as yet. Now, seeing the grace and elegance of their dance, which took center stage in all the theatrics, I was greatly moved. Father Christmas in miniature leapt nimbly from branch to branch, delivering presents to everyone from the large sack he carried and pausing only to pull giant fir needles from his long white beard. The stars had become real stars, twinkling blindingly so they were impossible to look at, and the icicles had become real icicles, frozen to the ends of the fir branches. I couldn't tell if it was from shaking caused by all the activity in the tree or not, but the bells were ringing and chiming and jingling. Some of the larger bells had deep voices with good tone, like church bells. The smaller ones sounded like the wind.

I got a crick in my neck from staring up at all this wonder. I really wanted to be up there with them, but I had no idea how to climb a tree my own size, let alone one that was taller than the mountains along the South March. I was pacing back and forth in some frustration when a crimson-robed king, bearing a glittering golden jar in one bejeweled hand, leaned over his branch to have a better look at me. I caught his eyes and smiled.

"Greetings!" he called down to me. He sounded _very_ far away. "Perhaps, good lady, I should extend an invitation to you." He snapped his fingers, and a tiny soldier cat stepped up with a smart salute. "Lower the ribbons!"

Lower the ribbons he did: The gold garland ribbon draped around the tree made an excellent sort of rope. I changed into my human form and gripped it as it came down, and half-muscled my way up while the soldier cat and a couple of mice, which were the same size as the cat, hauled away. When I finally reached them, I let go and sat down on the thick fir bough, relieved.

"Ah! Thank you very much, your highness."

"'Tis no trouble at all, Lady Myrrh."

I raised my eyebrows, but the name seemed to fit me. Myrrh - a gift for the king, and a symbol of bittersweet suffering. I was a Lady Myrrh all right.

The king smiled at me. He had darker skin, I noticed, so perhaps he was one of the three kings from Arabia. I returned his smile, and when he held out his hand to me, I took it. He raised me to my feet.

"Tonight, we have a very special destination," he said kindly. "We make this pilgrimage every year on Christmas night, and sometimes we bring along a special guest. Will you be our guest this night, and journey with us across a desert?"

Across a desert! Well, I was no stranger to deserts, and I was going in the company of kings. "I... I would be delighted. Honored," I stammered gratefully. "But I... I mean, we're only..." I grappled for words; he might have no concept of the strangeness of our size. "It took me five minutes to get from one end of this room to the other," I attempted, gesturing at the huge room beyond us. "It could take years for us to cross a whole desert."

The king tilted back his head and laughed. Such a merry, contagious laugh it was that I couldn't help but join him, and one by one the other creatures populating the Christmas tree laughed along with him, until the music stopped and there was only laughter shaking every branch of the fir. The sound of it grew until the very echoes made the room quiver and ripple, and then, suddenly, cold wind was whistling in my ears and we weren't standing in a fir tree anymore.

I was grateful for my cloak. I pulled it close around myself and shivered. The king was still there, joined by two others, and we were under an open nighttime sky. Slowly I turned to look at what seemed to be an entire city spanning the desert behind me. My eyes widened and I gaped. There were camels, and servants, and pavilions. They were packing everything away, it seemed to me, and loading it onto the camels. Above us, a star that rivaled the moon in brilliance gleamed in the heavens like a giant spotlight.

"That, Lady Myrrh, is what we are following." The crimson-robed king I knew pointed up to it. "That star appeared in the east. We study stars, you know, and there was an ancient prophecy that the Messiah would be born when that star appeared."

I gasped softly. "I study stars also, your majesty. All centaurs do."

He chuckled. "I know, Lady Myrrh. And now, will you come with me?" He offered me his jeweled hand.

I accepted it, and he helped me mount one of the camels. Riding another creature was an odd experience for me, since I have four hooves of my own and prefer to use them; but tonight everything seemed more natural, somehow - including riding camels, and riding them _sideways_. Camels are such oddly amusing animals, with long-lashed, half-lidded eyes and - to my mind - lazy expressions. But they are truly remarkable, with soft hooves and lifestyles perfectly adapted to surviving harsh desert environments.

I had to wait in line for awhile while the last of the entourage got its act together, and then our caravan set off across the sandy landscape. The camels kept a steady, lolling rhythm to the march. It was amazing, traveling in the midst of all those people - kings and servants and slaves alike. A few carried torches, and they flamed golden-yellow here and there along the line. I was the only woman in the group.

We didn't have much farther to go: Most of the journey had been completed already. We topped a sand dune, and a darkened city stretched before us, lit by only the occasional oil lamp or torch, but those were rare. This was a culture in a time concerned with fuel conservation. There were no lights and lightswitches or folks staying up late at night. They arose and went to bed by the sun.

The star, meanwhile, had come to rest over a humble stable. Its silvery beam of light shone squarely upon it.

"There it is," breathed the crimson king in awe, as if this were his very first time out here. We went down from the lonely dunes and into the midst of the sleeping city, through its darkened dirt streets, past the packed-out inn which, I mused, would have had a "No Vacancy" sign posted in New York's modern times. And there, at last, we stopped before a lone stable. The door was open a crack and a yellow light gleamed from within.

"Here we are," murmured the king in reverent awe. The three of them and I went forward alone, pausing only to listen to a distant choir singing.

Suddenly I gave a cry. "There they are!" I pointed into the sky.

Sure enough, there they were: Angels, incredible white angels, singing their hearts out and rejoicing all over the heavens with such exuberance that the earth below trembled as if from an earthquake. Angels were awesome beings, terrible and beautiful to look upon, and I mused again that Angel's nickname was perfectly fitting (though he himself doesn't know it yet).

And then there were shepherds pouring over the midnight hills, driving their flocks of sheep before them. They were half-running towards the barn. Angels were still celebrating in the skies when the kings pushed open the door and entered, and I came after them, and the shepherds crowded behind me.

But my gaze was arrested by the beautiful sight before me: A young girl, perhaps only twelve or fourteen years of age, tending a cooing babe in a feed trough filled with soft straw. She looked up and smiled when she saw us. I've never seen a more beautiful smile in my life, and it warmed my heart. Then she beckoned us forward, and there was great joy in her dark eyes.

A man was standing protectively near them, holding a staff. He was watching the baby, who was wrapped in white rags, with some wonder.

I pressed close at the girl's bidding and peered into the manger. Lo and behold, the little child lying there was bright-eyed and _smiling_. He looked right at me and made a childishly small gurgling noise.

I couldn't help laughing. He was adorable!

Time and the outside world ceased to exist that enchanted night as a slow stream of people knelt before the Christ child, murmuring good wishes to his mother Mary and their protector, Joseph. Angels came down from somewhere in the ceiling - I didn't see exactly how they got in - and sang a soft lullaby that had all our heads nodding. Animals were also affected by the baby's presence. They watched him with soft eyes and knowing in their otherwise unintelligent expressions, for these were all non-talking creatures who were considered, in Narnia at least, dumb. But I saw the way the donkey tenderly nuzzled the child, making the little one laugh when the donkey whiskers tickled his stomach, and I knew that, whether they were dumb or not, they knew exactly who was lying in that rough wooden manger.

The kings presented their gifts - costly gifts of gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. Mary accepted them with quiet grace, and she smiled and simply held out her hand to them. I caught my breath, and suddenly the glitter of those royal presents dimmed like shadows in the light that shone from the humble manger. Mary's simple gift was A king himself - the King of Kings. The Lord of everything. God himself. Through Mary, he was brought to this world - to us. He was our gift.

At that point, I really was moved to tears. Tonight was going to be a night to remember.

I hope that your Christmas night was also a night to remember.

Christmas blessings,

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	54. How It Ended

For hours upon countless hours, wonderful things happened. I sat near the manger and saw the Drummer Boy perform for the Christ child. The soldier cats and mice, and the trumpeting bears, and the tiny angels from the Christmas tree had all become full-size, and they performed a number of carols, much to the baby's obvious delight. The Nutcracker and the ballerina danced in the middle of the barn - a dance of such beauty that I wiped away more tears. Turtledoves looked on in pairs from the rafters, and the cow and the sheep watched over the baby. Once in a while, one of them would venture near and gently put its nose up to the little king, and it seemed to me as if he blessed them, baby though he was.

It must have been late when the shepherds at last departed, singing joyous praises even though the oblivious town slept on. They didn't know what they'd missed - today was an ordinary day to them, and they'd slept through a miracle. God himself had come to the world, to save it. That was worth staying up for.

I, too, was getting a little sleepy. I stifled a yawn as the last of the sheep left the barn, and then Mary gave me another beautiful, innocent smile. "Would you like to hold him?"

I almost toppled over. What?! Me, hold the Son of God himself? I nodded, speechless, but Mary was already leaning over the manger, gently drawing the baby from the hay and holding him close a moment, her dark eyes soft with motherly love. Then she turned to me and laid him in my arms.

I trembled, cradling the beautiful baby. He was so warm, so alive. I gazed down at him, and when his eyes met mine, I was filled with such joy that I laughed and cried because I couldn't help it. I brushed tender fingers over his cheek, and one of his flailing baby hands came to rest on mine.

I went completely still. I've never been more content in all my life than I was at that moment, holding God himself close to me. I was loved. I was right where I belonged. I was... home.

_Let me be everything to you, Zephina._

The soft voice echoed in my mind as I handed the baby back to his wonderful mother. "Bless you," I murmured quietly. "May the stars watch over you, now and always."

_I love you, Zephina._

The kings were standing at the barn doorway, and it was only right that I was to leave before they did. I moved to the door, pausing with my hand on the frame to look back at the little family huddled together. They were tired too, and they needed their rest - and time alone together.

_I will always watch over you, Zephina._

I stepped out into a cold, pink-skied dawn. The kings came after me. We mounted the camels and began our procession out of the just-waking town of Bethlehem - a place which meant, literally, "Little House of Bread", as I'd recently read. I couldn't help smiling as they emerged from their homes, dressed in loose-fitting robes. Right in their own town, the Creator of the Universe was sleeping peacefully. Even if they had known, the barn was the last place anyone would have thought to look for the King of Kings. There was something incredibly amusing of the incongruity of that - the Lord of the Stars, a helpless baby resting in an animal's feed trough. The One who split Time itself in two was not adverse to living in the humblest of circumstances. Aslan had an amazing sense of humor - and amazing humility. Kingship came naturally to him, but when he came here, he came in such a way that he could identify with those who were considered society's lowly.

_I will take care of you, Zephina. Don't worry_.

The gentle swaying rhythm of the camel below me moved with the steps of the dark-skinned servants and the other camels as our timeless caravan of dreams left the city behind and went out across a desert, where long morning shadows still stretched across gray-red dunes.

And then, they were dancing.

Someone was beating a primal bongo drum, and the servants lifted up their voices in a shout, and they were singing in a language I couldn't understand. They skipped over the loose sands on either side of me, clapping their hands, celebrating and free. The kings on their camels were laughing. Birds whirled away across the golden sea of the sky above us like torn fragments of pennants caught in a wild storm. Wind exploded over us, whipping through my dark hair, and I lifted my head to catch it as the servants' dance whirled around me and the still-plodding camel.

Then I, too, was singing - just singing, without true words that I understood, but just giving voice to the wild, joyous cry in my heart, lost in the melody of time and love and freedom. I lifted my arms, spreading them wide like Angel's wings as we went into the west.

Suddenly I turned my face over my shoulder to the east just as the sun burst over the horizon, engulfing us all in blinding gold. I heard the laughter of the crimson king, and then they all melted with the liquid sun and washed away in a river of light, the last strains of that lovely music of the soul fading with them.

Slowly, the light dissipated. I gave a peaceful sigh and opened my eyes. I was in my own room, and young sunshine was pouring through the window. It was morning. Christmas morning.

Was all that transpired merely a dream? I could still smell the pungent barn odors, and the sweet fragrance of the child who had been in my arms for a brief, endless moment, and I could still feel the chill of the desert wind tingling on my skin.

I left my room and went running down the hall like a child eager to check her stocking. I raced into the doorway of the room where the chocolate fountain was and skidded to a halt, my boot soles leaving marks on the wood floor. I peered in.

It was exactly the same as it had been the night before, except the chocolate fountain was off. That was the only change I could see. Hesitantly I stepped into the room and let my bewildered gaze wander over the hors d'oeuvres. Then I moved closer to the tree.

I'd not paid much attention to the ornaments before they came to life, but they were all there: The trio of soldier mice, the horn-toting bears, the soldier cat, the fantastically beautiful angels, the Nutcracker and the ballerina, and the kings, all three of them - all porcelain and plastic and glass and fabric again.

But I fancied, as I leaned close to the crimson king, now crafted of fine porcelain, that he actually _winked_ at me. I blinked and stepped quickly back, wondering if I were delirious still, until a familiar fragrance wafted past my nose and soft chuckling reached my ears. I whirled and thought I just caught the bright gold of my favorite lion as he exited the doorway.

Suddenly laughing, I ran out of the room and searched the corridor with my hair flying wild like a little girl's. Up one hall and down another I dashed after the lion, giggling with delight, but he remained ever elusive... or else he wasn't there at all.

I ended up at the door to the chapel and went inside, breathless and flushed with excitement. The chapel was decorated in white lights and mountains of poinsettias. I moved to the altar and fell to my knees before it, lifting my hands to heaven and thanking Aslan from the bottom of my heart for that wonderful dream.

_But was it really a dream?_

Laughter bubbled up from within my giddy soul. Perhaps I would always wonder.


	55. Auld Lang Syne

_Auld Lang Syne_ is a Scottish phrase with a literal translation of "old long since" - or, rephrased in comprehensible English, it could read "old times" or "times long gone". Fitting, in a way, for a New Year's theme song, and yet not: New Year's Day is a celebration of what is to come, not what has already transpired.

Yet the past so strongly affects one's future that one cannot help but reflect on those "times long gone" - or times _recently_ gone.

The minutes were ticking off the clock as I sat alone, in the lounge by a yellow lamp, watching a wild party on TV. It was taking place just a few miles from me - a whole street full of blazing lights and blizzards of confetti and seas of partying people, most of whom were roaringly drunk - or getting there, fast.

I sat back in the couch cushions and pulled my gray cloak closer about me, then picked up the remote and lowered the sound another few decibels. I sighed in the lonely silence and took a sip of my mango-flavored SOBE. An alcoholic beverage is traditional for a night such as this one, but I settled for SOBE regardless. I don't like losing control of myself - not even when the lack of emotional pain, for just a moment, would have been a tremendous relief.

It wouldn't have helped anyway. My sacrificing a few brain cells would have been in vain, because some things refuse to be forgotten.

What a whirlwind year this had been for me. Whole new worlds had opened up since Aslan gave me the gift of this sapphire choker and allowed me to travel outside the realm of Narnia. But I never dreamed how far I would go, or how much I would see, or how much I would have changed... or what I would find when I stepped beyond the familiar.

On the television screen, a glittering lighted ball with the numbers "2007" slowly descended a large pole. Midnight had almost arrived. The New Year would shortly commence, officially, here in New York. I smiled a little, then set my SOBE on the coffee table and forgot about it, my glazed vision blurring the bright colors.

Vast stores of knowledge pale in comparison to wisdom, or to the heart: Sometimes, sometimes the heart carries a wisdom all its own, and when you don't listen to it, regret inevitably follows. Regret is something Time cannot erase: It may fade, like chiseled inscriptions on a weathered gravestone, but it will never vanish altogether. All I can do is bury those regrets in a great cemetery in my heart, mark them with those gravestones, and water the resulting scars in my soul with bitter tears.

Some centaurs, I think, are born wiser than others: I certainly was not. My dedication to perfectionism and never making a mistake has gotten me in more trouble than those who simply live life and let the wind take them where it will - within reason, of course. I am not suggesting that one ought to be a tumbleweed. But when one is a stone, where does one go?

Nowhere. Which leads to regret, when one sees the most beautiful of dreams passing one by, and one cannot - or perhaps _will_ not - take hold of them.

Why? Because of fear. Fear petrifies one and turns one to stone.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I quickly brushed it away as the ball dropped ever lower and the seconds ticked into oblivion. "Live and learn," they say... but what if one learns too late? What if one had a chance, just a slim chance, and hesitated, and then the moment was gone beyond recall?

Time is the most valuable of all resources: One doesn't have much of it, and once it's gone, it's gone. There is no way to get Time back. A wasted moment is one of the great tragedies in life...

I have learned. But too late. There's nothing to do but go on, and be less of a stone than I was, but oh... The weight my heart now carries is greater than that of any stone. It will be harder, much harder, for me in the future. But everyone carries with them _something_. Broken hearts and broken souls litter the streets of life everywhere you look. That's why, when you walk in a crowd, you see shadows under eyes and young faces growing old, and there is a story in every line, every wrinkle. The only thing to do is press on, relying on the strength of Aslan. That is all.

The clock reached twelve and zeros, and the white ball exploded in a shower of blinding sparks. The cameras cut away to amorous couples kissing in the New Year while discordant music jarred the pixels in front of me. Scowling, I grabbed the remote, canned the TV, then chucked it onto the coffee table beside my SOBE.

Well, that was no way to deal with it. I _was_ happy for them, really. Snatching my SOBE by the bottleneck, I pulled myself from the depths of the couch cushions and went out into the courtyard.

It was a nice night. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks were igniting like man-made stars against a backcloth of intermittent clouds. The night breeze brushed soft against my face. According to the weatherman, a warm front was coming through, giving us a little respite from the winter - and an early preview of the spring to come.

Spring - when flowers grow over graves old and new, and the days lengthen, and warm sunshine comes out to play. Only now, I won't join it: It'll all be covered by a veil of gray, and the warmer months will only serve to remind me of the way things used to be. Of the way I used to be. Of what might have been, and now was not.

If only.

_I'm a strong centaur..._ And if I keep telling myself that, who knows. It might actually come true someday.

I drank my SOBE dry, then inhaled deeply of young January air, letting it take my tears - and the overwhelming desire to cry - far away. I buried another searing ache in my heart, then pressed a kiss to my fingertips and blew it to the stars.

"Auld Lang Syne," I whispered to no one. "And Happy New Year."


	56. Remember the Desert

Centaurs in Narnia are revered as the wisest of all creatures, and those most closely connected to Aslan. All other species are considered beneath centaurs, though it's never said aloud: It is a thought process as normal as gravity. It is a truth merely accepted by centaurs (and even other animals), but never spoken of: It just is.

My parents never bought into that lie. It made a lot of Narnians uncomfortable to have light shed on that hidden mindset, but I'm glad my parents persevered. Because of our point of view, we left the Council Ring of our own accord and were ever after considered outcasts, and outcasts of the Council Ring are not welcome in many areas of Narnia. The Council Ring is the oldest and most trusted institution in all the land. If a centaur is not a part of it, yet is no stranger to Narnia, then that centaur's loyalties - to Aslan and to Narnia - come into question.

Nevertheless, being centaurs ourselves, our small family had our own continuing battles with our proud natures.

A lot about me has changed over the past few months. When I first came to this school, I was a high-minded, hard-hearted creature who, despite the obvious hatred humans attach to mutants, refused to take the human form Aslan gifted me with just so I could fit in. If I - and my centaurian nature - hadn't put Angel's life in great danger, I doubt I'd have been able to make the transition willingly.

Even then, it was very hard. I did trust Angel enough to reveal who and what I am shortly after I arrived in New York. That in itself was a miracle - one which did not repeat itself for some time afterwards. Other mutants didn't find out I could change into a girl until much later.

Trust doesn't come easily to someone like me. When one is not in control, one can get hurt: I am afraid of that because I've been there, and I don't fancy being there again. But without trust, one cannot love, and without love, life isn't worth living. That's the biggest reason I think Angel tried to commit suicide: It wasn't just that he'd lost everything, but he'd lost _love_, and now he's looking everywhere to find it.

The thing is, so am I. I was fortunate Aslan came to me when he did and offered me unconditional love, but my journey has just begun. Already it has transformed my life while this journey is just in its baby stages; I wonder what the future will hold as I press deeper into the unknown, taking the road less traveled.

That is my destiny. I don't know the way, or what will happen. All I know is this: Without love, I am nothing. Those five simple words can be read a thousand ways, and I think it is best left to individual interpretation. So I will say only: Without love, I am nothing.

Knowing that love is my only hope has made it possible for me to undertake the risk of this journey. Sometimes you have to break completely before you get to a place where you'll accept that truth - without pretenses, because all pretenses have been stripped away. Angel got to that place - at least partially - during a long talk we had in the courtyard. More on that, I will tell later. Much later.

Everyone needs water to survive. But water can be taken for granted, and one might rely on other things to survive as well when water is plentiful: Various foods, entertainment, companionship, money. But when one goes out into the desert, one quickly discovers that one becomes thirsty much sooner than one becomes hungry, or bored, or lonely, or concerned with one's financial affairs. Water becomes priceless.

Aslan is like the water. I've been in the desert - literally and figuratively - and suffered there. Now I take neither water nor love for granted.

It's a long road though, even now. Metamorphosis is a long, slow process. But change does eventually take place, and it's a bit like watching the world change, or the sea wear away the land: It takes an excruciatingly long time, and sometimes it's not very noticeable. But there are some things I have indeed noticed, and it all came between August and October of last year.

But there are things I still won't admit, not even to myself - secrets I'll never reveal, because it's best that way.

This hasn't been a journey devoid of pain or heartbreak, or mistakes. But in the months where I first arrived in New York, I discovered dreams I'd given up on - and had to give up again. That'll change anyone.

Don't be afraid of change. It'll hurt you. It'll break you down to your core. It'll take away denial and reveal you for who you really are. Sometimes you'll wonder if it's worth it. At times like those, remember the desert.

Love,

Violar Zephina Wildfire


	57. A Kiss

There was an undeniable saunter in my step and the sort of confident, grounded presence about me that comes to one when one feels that one belongs. I was home, and I took full possession of that truth and reaped the security that came from having a family and a future at Xavier's.

My friend Alisha, codename Elastica, made for me another outfit: At my request, this one was completely black. The blouse was made of a thick, stretchy material that clung to my form perfectly, and the pleated skirt was full and light enough that I could move about in it - and even fight in it - unhindered.

It was an early version of what I hoped my future uniform would be when I finally became one of the X-Men. Even though I knew the X-Men uniforms were styled quite differently, they were still black. I was behaving a bit like a child playing Superman in this world, or a foal pretending to be a Council leader in Narnia, and I knew it; but I did it anyway.

I wanted to "grow up" to be one of the X-Men. It was my dream.

After thanking Alisha profusely, I put her impeccable work to the test in the Danger Room. It's not as easy to balance on two legs as it is on four, so I worked harder on my skills while in humanoid form. I'd been spending less and less time as a centaur, rather enjoying the opportunity to fit in with the mutants. Aslan had given me the ability to shapeshift for a reason, after all, and I took full advantage of it.

I had just stowed my swords in my locker after my workout and was striding down the brightly-lit hall on my way to the kitchen for some fortification when I encountered someone else. This wasn't a rare occurrence: The mansion was swarming with students during daytime hours and, on many occasions, visitors - both human and mutant - came through on some errand or another, usually to meet with the Professor.

I didn't take much notice of this fellow: I was hungry and I was on a mission to remedy that as soon as possible. I nodded politely to him out of habit and strode right past him.

Suddenly I was overcome by a strong wave of... _something_ indefinable. It was so powerful that it brought me to a standstill in the middle of the hallway. Frowning, I analyzed the feeling: Pure _danger_.

Lifting one eyebrow, I turned my head slightly and looked over my shoulder at him. His expensive suit told of refined tastes. The man radiated _smooth_. Heightened senses. Specialized training. Cat-like hunting prowess. And most definitely, danger.

He had noticed me as well and paused in the middle of the corridor, gazing back at me with a cool smile, casually tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. Pivoting sideways, I folded my arms and stared at him, almost challengingly.

He broke the ice first. "Something on your mind, miss?"

I tilted my head to one side, regarding him. He addressed me with rare confidence, as if he were used to having an effect on people.

Pride rose up inside of me. This time he'd met his match. I wasn't affected by just anyone, and I had a commanding presence of my own.

"Idle curiosity," I answered coolly. "I haven't seen you around here before." And I left it at that. "Who are you?"

He extended his hand to me, his smile undimmed by my rather frigid greeting. "Bond, James Bond. And you are?"

I gazed at him piercingly for a moment, then unfolded my arms and accepted his handshake in the greeting which was becoming increasingly familiar. I allowed a return smile to graze my lips - but just barely.

"A true delight, Bond James Bond," I responded. "Intriguing name you have. I am called Violar Wildfire. I have no repeats in my name." I knew my gray eyes betrayed a hint of a jest, but I maintained my cool exterior. "So what brings you here, Master Bond?"

He let out a small chuckle as he shook my hand in a grip I could only call generous. It was firm, yet somehow accommodating... perhaps because I am a woman. "Well, I'm afraid that information is classified," he informed me. "What I can tell you is that I'm in the city for a week, then I leave again for London."

"Ah." I nodded, smiling almost to myself, though I hadn't the faintest idea where London was. Then I looked up at him and folded my arms again, preparing to let him go on his way. "Well. Enjoy your visit, and see to it that you stay out of trouble. If you don't, it could be rather... dangerous." I lifted my eyebrows meaningfully.

It was a bold warning to issue to a man such as he. Instead of continuing on to wherever his destination in the mansion was, he stepped closer to me, his maddeningly permanent smile - it was almost a smirk - still firmly in place.

"Now now, what would life be without the occasional danger, Miss Wildfire?"

I inhaled sharply. He didn't know what I was going through at that particular time, as that year drew to a close, but what he'd said struck a chord with me because it was completely relevant. This Bond fellow was someone who would most definitely understand.

"I _thrive_ on it," I answered, fierceness tinging my tone. I unfolded my arms, faced him, and lifted my chin to a fearless angle. "Danger... is not something to run from, but rather to be embraced." A corner of my mouth quirked. "If you the heart for it."

He never budged. "I've seen my fair share... I've also seen my fair share of beauty, but never beauty such as yours." I was _not_ impressed, but before I could formulate an argument, he went on. "What do you say I buy you a drink, and we can get to know each other better, hm?" Still smiling at me in his calm, enigmatic way, he reached up and brushed a stray lock of my dark hair aside from my face.

Lightning shocked my nervous system and I flinched backwards slightly - not enough to dislodge his hand completely. Then I was a little angry with him - and myself; he hadn't even touched me and I reacted involuntarily. I wasn't used to anyone penetrating my personal space, especially that quickly. Bold move. I stared into his eyes, my own gaze darkening with intensity. At least he spoke the truth when he said he'd seen his fair share of danger: I shouldn't have expected anything less from him.

"Thank you for your compliment," I responded neutrally, inwardly congratulating myself on my ability to hide how much he unnerved me. I had to regain an edge, and physical posturing wasn't getting the job done - obviously, if merely touching my hair like that could cause me to tremble and lose my composure - so I resorted to my favorite attack tactic. "But you of all people should know that all beauty is a mask - an elaborate one, to be sure, but what lies beneath?" I lifted my eyebrows again - another challenge - but this time I smiled. "I will... accept your offer, as long as the 'drink' is non-alcoholic. Oh, and there's one other thing you should know about me." I suddenly flashed a brilliant smile. "Much about me... is _classified_."

As the French would say, _touche_.

Bond James Bond wasn't the least bit affected. "Well I must thank you for giving me the pleasure of your company," he responded with smooth politeness. "I know hardly anyone in this country, so it is rather hard to find someone to go out on the town with... Shall we?" And he gestured in the direction of the garage.

I was more than a little annoyed. What an impossible man, and he couldn't even grant me a moment of victory! Then it was amusing, and I tried to act as unaffected as he seemed to be. I set my hand on his forearm.

"Certainly. The pleasure is mine as well." After a moment, I added, "I don't know many here either - just a handful of mutants from here in the mansion."

_How ironic, really,_ I thought to myself, _that I should have that in common with this man._

Bond James Bond smiled at me, and as we walked out to the garage, I found myself reflecting on his peculiar name - and wondering if that were his _true_ name. Either way, it was definitely catchy, and it made mine seem old-fashioned and poetic by comparison.

Bond led me to the garage, and immediately I noticed his car. It was impossible not to. The shiny black vehicle was a work of art, and I wondered why I hadn't seen anything like it during the several months I'd resided in New York.

Bond played the role of a gentleman beautifully, opening the passenger door for me. I slid easily into the seat and he closed the door after me. The interior of the car was fairly roomy, though my natural reaction to any enclosed space isn't a favorable one. Centaurs dearly love their freedom, and the ceiling was too close to my head for comfort. Fortunately this wasn't my first experience with a car: Tessa had introduced me properly to New York's favorite form of transportation, and I later rode in the back of a taxicab on the night before Halloween. I could deal with the mild claustrophobia, for now.

While I waited during that brief period of aloneness, I tried to gather full control of myself. I hadn't been fully aware of my elevated heart rate until then. And I would need to keep my head about me: Alisha had explained this world's custom of dating, which was very different from Narnia's idea of prolonged courtship; and, as Angel had said, I found New York's methods... much quicker and much less refined. A couple's genuine friendship suffered as a result of hasty moves, and love was built on a less reliable foundation.

At least, that was my personal analysis.

In any case, I had no intention to let Bond James Bond get to me. He didn't know who I really was, and in all honesty, I wanted it to stay that way... for reasons besides whoever Bond James Bond was, as a person.

The driver's side door opened and I brought my musings to an end. Bond keyed the ignition, backed out of the garage, and we were on our way.

"So what do you do for the school exactly?"

"I'm one of the students." I glanced sideways at Bond as he handled the steering wheel, and the car moved over the road with a smooth hum and gentle ease. How very different this experience was from my usual mode of travel - jolting along on four hooves.

Bond didn't seem concerned about my curt reply, but I decided a _little_ more information was in order. "I recently enrolled, being fascinated with the Professor's philosophies. I have also embraced his vision, as it is one near and dear to my heart. And of course some of the mutants have become close friends."

"I see." Bond slowed the car at a red light, glanced at me with his unfailing smile, then smoothly accelerated as the light turned green a moment before we came to a complete stop. This car fit Bond's personality perfectly. "Yes, I've heard a great deal about this 'Professor', but I haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet. I'm afraid I don't know much about mutation; however, I'm sure MI6 has plenty of information on it. I'll be sure to do some studying when I get back home."

"Or I can answer any questions you might have," I put in archly, glancing sideways at him. "I _do_ live at the mansion, after all. I don't know what sort of information your... 'MI6' has on mutants, but I wouldn't trust it to be accurate unless it were to come from inside the mansion itself." I pursed my lips and studied the road ahead. "You should make a point to meet the Professor as soon as possible. He is truly remarkable."

There was a thoughtful silence, during which I wondered how my companion viewed mutants. I was one of them, after all, and I wondered how he'd react if or when I told him. There was only one way to find out.

I turned and gazed fully at Bond, realizing belatedly that he was watching me more than the road ahead; but it wasn't important right then. "The outside world has tainted views on mutants. You ought not to believe everything you hear, Master Bond."

He merely smiled, transferring his gaze between my searching one and the road. His answer was predictably calm and diplomatic. "Well, I'd like that. Unfortunately, my job keeps me away from home most of the time. I don't have the time to watch TV or read the newspapers, so I'm afraid I haven't heard much about mutation."

_Hm... that explains a lot._

I sat back in my very comfortable seat, clasping my hands in my lap and gazing thoughtfully out the window, watching the various buildings go by. After a moment of contemplation, I gave an ironic smile.

"Well, Master Bond... for someone who claims to be closeted away at 'work' so much of the time, you _do_ know your way around New York pretty well," I observed with a slight chuckle. "I assume you have a particular place in mind, since you haven't hesitated _once_ this entire trip." Why I wanted to defeat him so badly, I don't know, but I was smiling at Bond as if I were issuing him a dare.

He pointed to a glowing screen on the dashboard, which I hadn't noticed before. "We're the green dot," he explained, "and that red dot is our destination."

_Oh_. But I was too fascinated by the navigational device to express annoyance, and my curious nature took over. For awhile I was silent, watching the moving green dot close in on the stationary red one.

He was watching me again. Abruptly I straightened and shot him a look.

"Really, this is your lucky day," I told him, changing the subject. "You'll get to find out everything you wanted to know about mutants from an insider's point of view. In turn, if it's not 'classified'," I added with a hint of mischief, "I should like to know what _your_ line of work is. I very much doubt that a life spent as an outdoorsman would appeal to a man like you, so I've already ruled out mountaineering."

He let out a chuckle - finally! - and rolled the car to a stop at an intersection, taking a right turn without using his blinker. Somehow Bond James Bond was too cool for blinkers.

"I work for MI6, based in London," he replied in his calm voice. "Basically, everything about my job is classified, but seeing as how for some reason I trust you... I'm a secret agent, Miss Wildfire. That is the only way to put it."

Something inside me softened when he said he trusted me. Trust wasn't an easy commodity to come by, and it was something that meant a lot to me. I shifted my gaze back to the navigational computer and tucked a thick section of dark hair behind one ear, consciously stalling for time. If he was going to give me his trust so quickly, I was going to be very careful with it - and him.

"I won't tell anyone," I promised with sudden gravity. "Though... I'd hardly even know _what_ to tell. What does a secret agent do, exactly, if I might ask, besides asking out random women for a drink?" I couldn't pretend interest in the digital map anymore and was staring instead at Bond. "Though I _can_ see why such activities would fall under the category of dangerous, and I also see why you'd want all that information _classified_... Your findings could get you in a lot of trouble, if it were to fall into the wrong hands."

Despite my continued jesting remarks, I was quite serious.

So was Bond. "Well I do a number of things... it all depends on the situation. Such as last week, I was called to Russia to stop a stolen nuclear device from wiping out half the planet." I was more than a little startled at his casual reference to the subject. If such a mission had been entrusted to me, even if I'd been successful, I'd have been traumatized and brooded on what might have been for a long time. Bond James Bond didn't seem very bothered: To him, saving the world was all in a day's work.

He went on as if our conversation were about something as mundane as horticulture. "As far as women go, I just know a very nice woman when I see one..."

_Oh dear._ I knew I was in trouble, but he'd caught me a little off-balance with the suddenness of his shift in topics. I realized that afternoon was fast becoming evening as he drove into the parking lot of a fancy bar, and once he killed the ignition, he turned to face me in the quiet interior.

"And you, Miss Wildfire, are a very very beautiful woman..." His low, deep voice was smooth as silk and rich as chocolate.

I turned to face him as well, and I set my hand atop his sleeve, gazing into his eyes with sincerity. The time for wordplay was over. Bond James Bond was many things, but he saved the world on a regular basis, and for that he'd gained my respect, at least. And he already trusted me: I had to be careful with him. I spoke with more gentleness than before.

"Please, Master Bond. There's no need to flatter me. Beauty is... rather subjective. There are a lot of beautiful women in the world - many more beautiful than I - and beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder, since opinions will differ on which beauty is the best." I looked down at the fine material of his suit where my fingers currently resided, then lifted my gaze to his again. "But I am grateful for your compliment. The mirror doesn't often tell me such things. And thank you as well for your devotion to this world." My brow furrowed. "I'm sure the half of the world that would have been otherwise blown up is unspeakably appreciative of your intervention."

He placed a hand over mine, brushing his thumb over it lightly. A slight shudder ran through me. Swallowing hard, I looked away, fighting to quiet the sudden spike in my heart rate. Did he know what he was doing to me? Curious to know on that score, I looked back at him and found him gazing steadily into my eyes with an intense expression that was both frightening and exciting at once.

"Most men would gladly give everything to be in my position right now... The question is, what would happen if I were to listen to my instincts, and kiss you?"

I was a little startled. I'd never dealt with such a bold approach before, and he'd disregarded everything I'd said far too easily. Perhaps it was his way of teasing women, and he simply came off serious. I wasn't entirely sure. My danger sense was temporarily stunned and told me nothing. I had to rely on what I knew, and I didn't know the ways of modern society in this world very well.

If this was merely a game, I decided to play along, and without betraying my anxiety I gave him a slightly superior smile. "I don't think you want to find out."

His thumb made one more trip over the back of my hand, turning my treacherous heart into a runaway horse. My smile wobbled into uncertainty. A hand moved to caress my cheek, and my senses spun.

"Well then, it is a risk I'm afraid I must take..."

The hand against my cheek was soft and it soothed me just long enough for him to lean closer to me. My malfunctioning brain didn't register what he'd said until his lips touched mine, sending another shock wave through my body.

This wasn't a game.

My mirth fled in an instant and sudden anger flared inside of me. I jabbed a forefinger into the sensitive point between his throat and his clavicle and forced him backwards, breaking the kiss almost immediately. Everything had happened so fast...

"I warn you," I said in a low, dark tone of voice, glaring at him. "Don't do that again."

He stared at me, immobilized by my reaction. "Miss Wildfire..."

As fast as the anger had come, it was gone. I panicked.

Repressed claustrophobia swept over me like a tidal wave, and I looked around with wild eyes, feeling cold and trapped and in danger. "Let me out," I cried, shrinking against the door. I couldn't breathe. "Let me out... now..." Whirling, my fingers scrambled madly against the door, searching for something... _anything_ that might have been the door handle. "Let me out!"

There was a faint _click_ and the next thing I knew, I was outside the car, not bothering to close the door behind me as I broke into a run - a difficult feat in black high-heeled boots - and ignored Bond calling my name somewhere behind me. I had to get away. With a fistful of skirt gathered in one hand, I ran down the sidewalk with my hair flying wild in my wake, bewildered and scared and furious all at the same time.

Bond James Bond didn't follow me.

People and cars and buildings went by in a blur of faded memory until at last I came to a stop in the middle of the city, shaking and wide-eyed and on the verge of tears. What had happened? Where was I? I looked around, trying somewhat frantically to get my bearings, and then I just... gave up. I wandered a little further and ducked inside an abandoned alley that reeked of garbage, and pressing my back against the cold brick wall I buried my face in one sleeve and quivered in the shadows, struggling only to muffle my sobs and waiting for the shock to pass.

It did, but slowly. A few tears streaked down my face as the rigid tension slowly relinquished my body. By then it was completely dark. It was dangerous to walk alone in New York City _especially_ after nightfall, and although I admit that I had been doing just that _because_ of the danger factor over the preceding few weeks, I was in no mood to face anyone - friend or foe.

I had to get moving. I drifted through the haunted alley like a shadow, stepping gingerly over scattered chunks of spilled trash - which I tried very hard to avoid looking at and identifying - until I reached the other end of the alley and emerged on the opposite sidewalk. Then I began the long journey back to the mansion in the darkness with only my shadow for company, feeling utterly devastated.

I wasn't angry with Bond James Bond because it was entirely my fault. The reasons for my strong and unexpected reaction to his soft kiss had nothing to do with claustrophobia or being kissed without invitation. He'd been gentle enough, and I wasn't afraid of him... not really. That night, as I meandered slowly home like a forgotten waif among the busy city full of dazzling lights and a rush of activity, certain truths I'd been running from and trying my best to forget, or simply pretend away, since my arrival in New York caught up with me.

The truth was... I couldn't trust anyone with my heart. That, too, was entirely my fault.

_"Danger is not something to run from, but rather to be embraced. If you the heart for it..."_

They were empty words, and they came back to taunt me. I am such a hypocrite.


	58. Pride Goes Before a Fall

To have the kiss of one man without asking when you desperately wish for a kiss you can't have from another man is indescribably painful.

By the time I got back to the courtyard, I was weeping bitter tears of mingled hurt and shame. I sat down beside the magnificent fountain in the dark and cried for a long time. I have a wounded heart, but it wasn't Bond's fault.

It was mine.

Bond James Bond was a wonderful fellow: Brilliant, sophisticated, temperamental, passionate, kind... and a gentleman, though I knew women were no mystery to him. We complimented each other. There was an undeniable chemistry between us, and merely trading words with him was enough to ignite a fire inside me.

But it wasn't enough for me... because I'd seen something far better.

There was a hard exterior which Bond's dangerous line of work had formed around him, but that was a phenomenon I was intimately familiar with: When you're a warrior, you shut yourself off emotionally. If you have a breakdown in the middle of a battle, you die. It's a matter of survival. It's that simple.

Bond James Bond was the way he was because he had to be.

Beneath all that, I sensed an interior that was warm and inviting and definitely giving. There isn't a paycheck in the world to sustain a drive to risk one's life on a day-to-day basis for a world full of people one will probably never meet. Oh, sure, there's the danger factor; and Bond thrives on that constant surge of adrenaline that comes from living life on the edge... like I do.

But there's more to it than that. There's no question in my mind that Bond James Bond is an amazing man, and with a little effort, I surmised I could bring that true Bond James Bond to the surface... which might eliminate his ability to function as a secret agent afterwards, and I don't know if he'd be too pleased about that or not.

It would have depended a lot on how deeply Bond allowed me to probe into his heart. I can't quite picture him trusting me to the point of crying in my arms like Angel did and wearing his heart on his sleeve: I doubt even his stylish car would feel right to him if he did that!

But it doesn't matter now. It's all pointless speculation on what might or might not have been, thanks to the decisions I made that night. Hindsight, I'm not really sorry I made them, but I _could_ have approached his offer of a kiss differently. Maybe, instead of issuing a challenge of my own, I could have put together a carefully-phrased argument that would have changed his mind. Something along the lines of:

_"You're the type of man who has kissed many women... and now I wonder what it is that would move you to kiss me after knowing me for less than an hour. You know very, very little about who I REALLY am."_

But I don't know how he would have reacted, because I don't _know_ him. And he doesn't know who I _really_ am either. He doesn't even know that I'm a mutant centaur, or that I've seen my share of battles (as he has), or that my favorite color is sapphire blue. Based on the outfit I was wearing when we met, he might conclude I enjoy wearing black - which I'd never been fond of wearing before I met the X-Men; I vastly prefer rich, vibrant colors, like cranberry reds and forest greens and even whites and bold yellows over black or shallow pastels. The richer colors tend to have more character, from my point of view.

We'd been acquainted for a grand total of perhaps an hour before he decided to kiss me, and that strikes me as a bit hasty. Regardless of the timeframe or lack thereof, all he knows is that I'm beautiful - at least to him - and he has some vague idea of what my heart is like. But you can't always judge a book by its cover.

And I definitely have a cover. He never did penetrate my facade. It's a habit of mine - a bad habit - to shield my true self from anyone I don't know. I don't trust people. I'm not proud to admit that the Violar he saw was a Violar reeking with pride and arrogance. The Violar he kissed was a Violar who isn't me.

She's a mask. She's hardhearted, ferocious, superior; even cold and uncaring. She's a warrior; a creature of instinct. I wasn't even aware that I wore this mask until a few months ago. Now this second persona has become startlingly clear because Angel effortlessly cut to the heart of the real me - without meaning to. He didn't do anything but be himself, yet somehow, someway, he caused a crack in my heart, and he managed to bring an inner self out of me I didn't know was lurking there... because I'd hidden her away.

When you act a part for so long, the lines blur and it's tougher to determine which you is the real you. But suddenly I knew: That devastating afternoon Angel and I spent in the courtyard, grappling with his mask and his past, brought the real me to the surface. I found out I was protective, and gentle, and soft; capable of great kindness and limitless affection.

I've never been that vulnerable around anyone. And that's why, although I promised him I would tell him my story, I didn't.

I avoided him... just like I avoided the Professor for a long time, and like I avoided the test I had to undergo to determine whether I was a carrier of the mutant gene. I _hate_ fear, but I'm afraid of being hurt more than I hate fear, and sometimes fear rules me. For days after that altercation over breakfast, I made a point to turn in only after I was sure Angel was asleep, or if he hadn't arrived yet in his room. I curled up in the corner with a blanket and pretended to be asleep when I heard him entering - either through the door or the window, as was occasionally the case. (It was totally understandable: If I had wings, I'd be sneaking out for late-night flights myself.) When I passed him in the hallways, I was too busy to stop and have any sort of deep discussion with him, and my superficially polite masquerade eliminated any possibility that we would make progress with me like I'd made with him.

No doubt that, in pushing him away, I hurt him. At the same time, I hurt myself too.

I'm not afraid of him. I'm afraid of myself. The ease with which he tore down my walls was terrifying, and I had no doubt he could, and would, effortlessly replicate the feat on any day under any circumstances. It wasn't a passing magical phenomenon: There was a consistency between me and Angel that demonstrated itself strongly right away. In the same way I knew I could get to him any time I wished, I knew Angel could take me apart.

He'd done that without _trying_. What would happen if he went after me deliberately?

No wonder I was scared.

I moved out of Angel's room as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Despite how crowded the mansion was becoming, Storm was kind enough to get me a room of my own: A small room, mind you, which didn't appeal to my natural claustrophobia; but my own room nonetheless. Besides a bed - which I actually slept in, in my humanoid form, rather than spending my nights as a centaur curled up on the carpeted floor - the room featured a wooden desk and a chair against one wall where I usually did my homework and a gray velveteen couch under a window that was, during daytime hours, a lovely place to curl up with a good book while yellow sunlight spilled over me and set my dark hair on fire.

Other than that, I didn't spend a lot of unnecessary time there.

My conscience ripped at me constantly for avoiding Angel, but I did it anyways. I couldn't face him. I tried to deal with myself and my myriad of fears, drawing on that single afternoon as a source of courage; to convince myself that Angel was kindness itself and that there really was nothing to fear. Towards the end of September, I was almost successful.

This was remarkable, from a certain point of view. I tore down years of fear buildup in the space of a few weeks. I wouldn't have been able to overcome those obstacles so quickly without good cause. Angel was definitely good cause, and I was tired of having my fears standing between us.

I finally got to the point where I valued my friendship with Angel far more than my pride, and when I did, I felt I could set aside my fears and approach him with the truths about my past. What I had with Angel was one of those rare, priceless friendships one comes across only once in a lifetime. It was a knowing without knowing; I knew, from the moment I looked into his eyes, that I'd found a kindred spirit. I also knew that he was stronger than I and that, if I weren't careful, he could very easily steal my heart away.

What I didn't know, but slowly began to realize, was that he already had. By the time I came to grips with that reality and accepted it and abandoned the last of my defenses, coming out of my self-made fortress in surrender, it was already too late.

I made my decision over the last weekend in September, and I hadn't seen Angel in awhile. Then we happened to meet in the kitchen at the same time for a midnight snack. I was delighted to see him, but Angel was a little sheepish and he seemed somewhat nervous. I was curious about why, but I didn't dwell on it right away. I was inwardly rejoicing at the prospect of the future.

That's when Angel gave me the news: He had a new girlfriend.

My world came to a screeching halt. The announcement caught me by surprise and left me reeling. I never dreamed this would happen...

Even Angel knew something was wrong, and he asked me about it, but I refused to tell him what.

"You don't have to have to hide anything from me, love," he said to me. "If you have something to say, go ahead and say it."

I couldn't. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak... nothing. I awkwardly thanked him and excused myself for a little while, trying to bring my wounded emotions under control.

I tried my best to compose myself and behave logically. And the dictates of logic state that love is a two-way street, and that I probably wasn't the wisest choice for Angel, and that my senses could've easily been mistaken.

But the heart doesn't operate by the dictates of logic. I was devastated. It was worse because I'd dared, for even a short time, to believe that there might be something...

I don't want to talk about it.

I'm a strong centaur. For forty-four years, I have survived on my own, and I know how to depend on only myself... though I know I can't for very long. I had to learn to lean on Aslan, because I'm weaker than I think I am. But there's no denying that a solitary life has done something to harden my character which could not have been accomplished otherwise.

Perhaps that's why Aslan allowed me to endure six lonely years in the desert before he came to bring me home. I'm not dependent on the Great Lion because I _have_ to be, exactly; I'm dependent on him _more_ because I _want_ to be. I made the _choice_ to depend on him because I realized I _needed_ him, and I _wanted_ him. I understand now that it is as it should be: A good marriage should not have one partner completely dependent on the other. Both should be able to stand alone, and then choose to lean on each other because they _need_ each other and _want_ each other. As my father aptly put it the night he proposed to my mother:

_A loosing, a binding,_

_A losing, and a finding._

A relationship with Aslan is much like a marriage.

I know what real love is because my parents had it. And I knew when I'd found it. And I knew when I'd lost it.

For the first few weeks, I was able to hide my bruised feelings fairly well. I immersed myself in the busy schedule at the mansion. I had classes, of course, and a garden to tend; there were mutants to visit and a whole library of books to peruse and forests to explore beyond the mansion. I played and laughed with the mutant children in the courtyard. I practiced my swordform in the Danger Room and, because it was more difficult for a naturally four-limbed creature to operate on two legs, I spent a great deal of time learning to wield my twin swords and fight when I looked like a human girl.

Aside from that, mutants became my close friends: There was Logan, whom I occasionally shared an amusing discourse with. The Professor welcomed me with open arms, once I finally got around to meeting him. Alisha, codename Elastica, taught me much about the ways of American life, including how to dress to fit in and how to operate everyday technology - like toasters.

No, we don't have any toasters in Narnia. That might go without saying...

Kurt Wagner was a brother to me right from the start, and when I met Tessa and discovered that he and she were courting, I saw so many similarities come into focus that, without even meaning to, I began to see them as my parents. They were so like Eolas and Violar Windsong that I lost count of the thousands of ways Kurt and Tessa mirrored them. At some point, I mentally adopted them.

But it was unquestionably Angel who had the greatest impact on me. How does one _know_ things about another person right from the start? But I immediately knew what kind of person Angel was. My Danger Sense and natural intuition had nothing to do with it: It was far beyond that. It was as if his coming ignited a spark inside of me, and it threatened to become an all-consuming wildfire. Out of fear I threw bucket after bucket of water on it to douse it... which usually works.

This time it didn't. I think those buckets were full of gasoline.

When we first met on a New York sidewalk, I knew there was something _different_ about him. At least for me, it was like effortlessly falling into step with someone - as if I'd known him forever, or perhaps all the missing pieces in my heart suddenly fell into place: Only ancient clichés can begin to describe what my meeting with Angel was like. For the first time, those clichés didn't seem so cliché anymore: They were vibrant and _real_ to me. In an instant, I understood.

The feeling only intensified as our acquaintance passed the thirty-second mark. It might have progressed even further had anti-mutant agents not interfered; I told Angel I was being followed, and he sent me to Xavier's while he remained behind - in my place - to divert them by getting shot in the wing. When he arrived at the mansion over an hour after I did, he dragged himself out of a taxicab... and his bloody wing was in pretty pathetic shape by then. Trying to hide my own sense of panic (I was in a strange new world, attacked by unknown assailants, and having to completely place my trust in this fellow whom I'd literally met on the street), I helped him to his room and bandaged him up.

Now... I'm no stranger to manipulation tactics. I'm not pleased to tell you that, despite my seeming depths of wisdom and prudence, my caring nature allows me to be taken advantage of. A knight, whom I will not now name, came to Narnia and did just that to me when I tried to help him: I offered him shelter and safe passage through lands that were foreign to him. I saved him from being captured by minotaurs and sacrificed my pride for his sake: We had to get out of the Lowlands in a hurry to escape our pursuers, and in that moment I cast off centaur protocol and whisked him onto my back and took off at a full gallop, dodging trees and leaping over fallen logs. Once we were relatively safe, I carried him to the Valley of the Unicorns, which no one can enter without the favor of the naiad in the waterfall. She rarely allows anyone who isn't a unicorn to pass. Luckily I know her.

I should have _left_ him there in perfect safety, because I was the one who wasn't safe with him.

This knight was the first man who ever kissed me - and he kissed me against my will. And... he didn't want to _stop_ at a kiss. Though my eloquent arguments about waiting for true love were enough to set him in awe of my so-called brilliance and enlightenment, it wasn't enough to dissuade him from continuing to pursue me in a romantic manner (if such forward advances could be called _romantic_ without profaning the very name). Some people can stare truth in the face and reject it, if truth doesn't fit their agendas. This knight was such a man. And when I didn't reciprocate his affections, he made me feel... inadequate, somehow; as if _I_ were the one in the wrong, since I chose to deny his propositions.

That was ridiculous, of course. I escorted him to the edge of Narnia so he could return home to Italy and there we parted ways. Mentally I was justified, but I still had to deal with the emotional aftermath; and afterwards I made a firm resolve never to let anyone get close to me like that again. I just felt that I couldn't _trust_, and I didn't think I would find anyone who _gave_ in love with pure motives.

Fear isn't always rational, obviously.

Angel never emotionally coerced me. He placed himself in my hands without reserve and allowed me to care for him - and deeply appreciated it, and me - and this complete abandonment of himself scared me like no one will ever know. I didn't want to hurt him by accident, and I sensed no resistance to me whatsoever. Concern for _myself_ switched almost immediately to concern for _him_. I had to draw my own lines and make sure I didn't cross them - no matter what I personally wanted.

And I knew I wanted Angel's heart.

I don't know what he'd be capable of if I hurt him where he was most vulnerable: In that ghost town of the soul. He's a strong fighter and he can handle a tremendous amount of pain, but... the deeper I go with him, the more dangerous it is for both of us. I know good and well how love can kill. He might attack me - which I still doubt, even now. What a gentle soul he is!

But whether or not he attacked me, any wounds I cause might be irreparable, regardless of his healing abilities. Such healing abilities don't extend to the heart. I might sustain damage, but he would simply accept it and be worse off. If that were to happen, I would also shatter, because the _last_ thing I want to do is hurt Angel. If I had, the knowledge that I'd hurt him and having no way to undo the damage would have been unbearable.

That's another reason I held myself back from him. I can't stand to hurt anyone, but if I hurt Angel... I couldn't live with it.

While I cared for him, he neither wallowed in self-pity nor made me feel as if I owed him since he saved my life. (He _had_ saved my life, and he didn't have to; he didn't have to get involved in my troubles, and he'd ignored me when I'd urged him to stay out of it.) He never once played on my sympathies. There wasn't a shred of anything resembling emotional manipulation in him. He was just... all genuine sweetness and selfless giving.

All these little things - and more - added up to win my complete trust. I trusted him to the point where I actually _cried_ in front of him, to my great chagrin. I don't cry in front of anyone - _especially_ not strangers. I wait until I'm alone to have my emotional breakdowns. But despite the pain his injury still gave him, Angel shifted to a sitting position and the healer became the patient as he gently drew me into his arms, holding me close and letting me cry, brushing the tears from my cheeks...

And I knew. I'd already known, but after that I couldn't deny that Angel was the one I was looking for.

When he took me in his arms, I found freedom. He didn't take advantage of a crying female who'd been through enough to qualify for "damsel in distress" status. He didn't make me feel weak - either for needing to be saved or for bursting into tears. Instead he made me feel warm, and comfortable, and well taken care of, and safe.

Time confirmed and reaffirmed what I immediately intuited about Angel. Heroes are heroes for various reasons; I've often found that heroism is a method of control, because a person is automatically indebted to the one who saves them. If you want to be on top of the world, try heroism.

That's why Aslan doesn't simply swoop in and save people. He has no desire to control. Love is a free will choice, not payback... even though we owe Aslan bigtime for his sacrifice on our behalf. He doesn't want us to love him out of any sense of debt, but because we simply _want_ to love him... as if we were on equal footing. It's really amazing that Aslan seeks that form of love above all others, if you think about it; because if he settled for _lesser_ forms of love, how many more creatures could he call his own?

The truest heroes are those who sacrifice themselves on the behalf of strangers because they genuinely _care_ about others: Not because they want control, or because they want to feel better about themselves, or because they enjoy accolades or the spotlight heroism conveniently provides. There are lots of tainted motives for becoming a hero.

The only flaw I could find with Angel was a simple one: He doesn't value himself.

He gives, constantly. I could take all I wanted from him, and he would have allowed it: That much was clear. But he had trouble _receiving_ even a simple compliment. For one, he doesn't feel worthy of receiving. For another, the world he inhabits uses flattery to gain control.

I imagine he's heard enough of it from those who would manipulate him through insincere sweet talk, so he deals with compliments in at least three ways: He puts on his most adorably cocky attitude and declares suavely that he's an angel and finds some creative way to say, "Of course I'm like that. Did you expect less from a wonderful angel like me?" Which is hilarious and greatly amuses his company - and me. Nice move, but the compliment bounces off harmlessly nonetheless. If he can't pull off a moment of false megalomania, he'll brush aside the compliment without acknowledging it. If that's not possible, he'll pass them off in his mind as inconsequential. (I know it's not amusing, but I find it... adorable nonetheless. One thing Angel is _not_ is arrogant.)

I know this because... I've experienced it. Aside from the flattery the unnamed knight showered on me, the Council Ring in Narnia isn't exactly populated by celestial centaurs. They could tell you the nicest things, even things that even you knew were absolutely true, and use the moment you softened up and dropped your guard to gain control over you. Those compliments were like bait in a mousetrap. It was awful. I reached the point where I would react in anger to compliments.

Angel found better ways of dealing with insincerity.

Even though he knows the nature of humanity (he can, at least to some extent, sense where people are truly at), Angel mentally and emotionally places others before himself, wearing himself out on behalf of those who really don't deserve it and stretching himself far beyond his limits - to his own detriment - while he paradoxically maintains a cocky, narcissistic exterior for the fun of it... and for the false security it provides. Most of the time, it works. He fools a large percentage of the population into believing he's got the world on a string.

While this is, in essence, a perfectly wonderful reason for being the hero he is, and the most solid foundation any hero can have, a large part of that foundation's very existence was birthed out of his own sense of low self-worth. His family's rejection is responsible for that, with smaller contributions from the world's general attitude towards mutants. Compound that with anyone's normal concerns about being an adequate individual, and perhaps you'd begin to get an idea of the burden Angel has to carry. His wings definitely came at a price.

I hate to sound like an advocate of self-esteem building: I'm not, actually. But everyone needs love, and love heals all wounds. Angel is strong, and he's strong enough to handle everything life - and his family - has thrown him. But on the inside, there _are_ wounds there...

The remedy for that is love. Real love. And that, I was beginning to feel for him... in overwhelming and all-consuming abundance... until I could hardly breathe. I found my home in his arms and my paradise in his eyes. The idea of completely devoting my life to Angel was intoxicating. I _wanted_ to do that more than anything!

My logic agreed wholeheartedly with my heart, and the more I contemplated taking that step, the happier I became, until I was fully overjoyed at the prospect of developing a deeper friendship with Angel... one that might possibly lead us to forever. I could easily envision my future twined with Angel's, and that was exciting.

And then it was over.

Perhaps I didn't return his affections fast enough. I had my own irrational fears to deal with, after watching such love kill my own mother and seeing how dangerous it could be to place oneself at the mercy of someone else (even though Angel was nothing like the unnamed knight, making my fears even less creditable). Fear held me back from saying anything, and I _should_ have said something... even though what I really wanted was to wait and see if he was just being polite or if he meant more by those kind words and gentle smiles that warmed my heart to the boiling point...

Perhaps it was arrogant of me to consider myself on equal footing with him. I _want_ to reach his level of selfless devotion, but wanting to be somewhere and being there are two different things. I know that. And I do know that I took what I knew and sensed about him and deliberately used that knowledge to pry into his past and those sealed vaults where he kept his darkest secrets and deepest hurts, and before he knew what was happening, I'd reduced a magnificent, naturally proud man to tears on a beautiful September morning.

He may not have seen what was coming, but I knew exactly what I was doing. It wasn't an accident. I'm both proud and ashamed to admit it. I went after him on purpose because I wanted to see him healed and whole and free of a past that keeps him from being who he was born to be, but in my overzealousness, I probably accomplished just the opposite... and scared the living daylights out of him. If I'm terrified of what hasn't happened yet, imagine how he feels: It's the difference between knowing that fire can burn you and having _been_ burnt. After personally experiencing it, nobody in their right minds is eager to walk through hot coals a second time.

That I didn't at least wait until he had a chance to know me better is one of the biggest regrets of my life.

I also know that senses can be misleading, but the strength of the connection I sensed between us was staggering. It was apparent to me right away that he was different when I automatically abdicated my leadership rights to him. I'm a leader, but so is he: He's stronger than I am. I can _feel_ it. And when he told me to get to Xavier's while he took care of the two men who were following me, I obeyed him without question.

Hindsight, though, I don't know. It might've been just me. Angel is polite to everyone, and he's careful to make everyone around him feel well taken care of and even special. It's the motivational gift of encouragement which is prevalent in his personality. I knew that, but I thought I could see through polite facades better than that...

Somehow I don't believe it, even now. Or maybe I don't _want_ to believe it...

I don't know, and in many ways, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm so confused. But for me, even if my feelings were completely one-sided, I'd seen something so beautiful that nothing could compare to it again: In my heart of hearts I knew I'd never find another Angel, and that knowledge was the cause of many tearful nights... and it continues to be.

Worse, I couldn't talk about this with anyone... not even my best friend, Alisha. I had to hold everything inside for Angel's sake. If word of my feelings got into the wrong hands, Angel would be in serious trouble - especially if they knew I'd spent the first part of my stay at Xavier's sleeping in his room (which Angel offered to me out of his great generosity, despite the fact that he has very little privacy already, what with his new roommate Jay). That was the last thing I wanted. Angel has been formerly known as a playboy, and the women here aren't known for showing restraint - especially around someone like Angel whom they consider "a fine catch". If I told so much as one person, the rumor mill might just have the forward momentum it needed to churn out an avalanche of problems for Angel.

For some reason, even when it's the woman's prerogative, the people around Angel tend to blame _him_ for lack of restraint instead of the woman. Seductive women are hard to resist, and Angel tries to please people. It's a bad combination - which leads to consequences. But none of that is taken into consideration for Angel's sake. It's not fair.

And he IS a playboy. I'll bet he's slept with more women than he can properly remember. The very fact that I've fallen for a man like him is almost miraculous. But he's come to mean so much more to me than other men who _aren't_ playboys. Aside from that, he's been nothing but a perfect gentleman to me - even more so than many men who emphatically deny the title of playboy. He flirts, but it's part of his personality: It's quite harmless, actually. He's playful. I find it adorable.

Angel might be a playboy, but his heart is different. The reasons he lives that life have everything to do with his past. He can't say no to anyone who makes him feel like a desirable, valuable individual, who accepts him in spite of - sometimes _because_ of - his wings. He sleeps with women to prove he's "normal" - that he's just like men who _aren't_ mutants.

It backfires. In the end, Angel is the one who suffers emotional consequences. I _hate_ that, because it rips me apart to stand here and watch and do nothing... Believe me, I have contemplated over and over again whether I should leap in and pull him out of this mess. I could. It would be so easy. But then... what constitutes control? How badly does he really WANT to be saved - by me?

Sometimes NOT being a hero is the hardest thing anyone has to do, even though I did it out of a (hopefully) heroic desire to love and support him, regardless of the cost... but I'm rapidly reaching the end of my rope. If Angel gives me so much as an inch to work with, I'll take it, because I truly believe that he DOES want to be saved.

Angel is open - at least to me - about his flaws and foibles. He's honest about them. Honesty is a virtue I value more than almost anything: Those who live in denial of who they _truly_ are wind up mentally handicapped at best and insane at worst. If you're able to take an honest look at yourself, you have a chance to change.

Angel has that chance. But I wouldn't change his soul for anything.

On the inside, he's not a playboy. And that's why I was hoping, desperately, to repair those wounded areas of his soul, because once he's free of those wounds, he won't _need_ the attention of women make him feel worthwhile.

He's not just worthwhile. He is... perfection, in my eyes. Aslan, if he only knew...

But he doesn't know. Even if I told him, he wouldn't be able to see it. Those wounds have blinded him to the truth of who he really is.

I never told Angel the truth about my love either. Angel feels an obligation to make sure that the world is happy. I didn't want him to know that he was a source of unhappiness for me. Besides that, Angel needed _my_ help and support in his new relationship, and my emotions would've complicated things. I was unwilling to compromise our friendship, or potentially damage Angel's relationship with his girlfriend; and I was too proud and too caring to indulge in a fit of self-pity in front of Angel, burying my real feelings deep inside and giving him all the advice I could instead. More than anything, I just... wanted him to be happy. And if Angel chose this woman to be his, then I was going to support him in that, completely.

So I suffered alone. My pride suffered as well, naturally, from not being Angel's chosen one; but that was the least of my concerns. Frankly I didn't _want_ to be unhappy on Angel's account, either, and I tried everything to change that sad reality: Pretending it away, busying myself beyond my schedule limits, ignoring my feelings altogether, eating chocolate...

Nothing helped.

Finally I had to accept the fact that I had a broken heart, and it wasn't going away. Behind my laughter was a crying soul. It was strange, I suppose, because we hadn't so much as shared a kiss. But within two days, what we'd exchanged meant far more to me than physical closeness or tender words. Somehow he'd penetrated all my defenses right before my eyes, and I wasn't the slightest bit alarmed as I watched him do it. I just wish, now, that I hadn't merely stood there, but had welcomed him with all the joy I felt... and hid, because I was too proud - and too afraid - to show it.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not an unhappy centaur overall. I consider myself very lucky. Life has been wonderful to me and I'm grateful for the tremendous blessings of friendship with the other mutants, and even the friendship I still continue with Angel. I was home, I had a family, and I was becoming a part of something great: The X-Men. I was a dedicated student, I helped the Professor in his gardens, I played with the children in the courtyard. I get to raid the kitchen whenever I please, for goodness sakes. There's always food here. How can I complain about that? My circumstances are hardly unbearable. Living in the X-mansion sure beats dwelling in a sparse desert crawling with slave traders.

It was just... sometimes, watching a couple strolling in the park not far from the mansion, or seeing Kurt and Tessa caught up in their own heaven together, or sitting alone on silver nights in the moonlit courtyard, or thinking of my own parents caused the searing ache in my heart to swell, wringing unwilling tears from my eyes. And do you know how many songs about angels, wings and flight there are in this world? Or how much literature is permeated with the influence of those heavenly messengers? I couldn't escape his shadow. Reminders of him were _everywhere_. I had to stop listening to the radio. I cried, a lot. I just wanted to know _why_. I went over every second of our exchanges, wondering what I should have done differently, if anything... But there were no real answers.

My perception of his feelings toward me was probably tainted by my own feelings for him... even though I held onto a wild hope that it wasn't the case. But I wasn't foolish enough to _really_ believe he harbored feelings for me. If he did, he'd have said something. He knows how, and he's done it before, I'm quite sure... though I also surmise that many of those declarations of love were given out of some sense of obligation or, on occasion, reparation. (There are minor flaws and exceptions in this premise, because of Angel's personality and the circumstances surrounding his relationship with this girl... Evidently some part of me _is_ foolish enough to believe he might still harbor feelings for me.)

Even now, I'm not sorry that I didn't say something when I had the chance. You can't manipulate someone and expect them to actually love you.

If only dropping this matter emotionally were as easy as a simple exercise in logic...

If only.

But it was far more than mere loneliness that caused the ache in my heart. Angel is... so _beautiful_, inside and out. His smiles, ranging from teasingly cocky to genuinely grateful and from gently tender to almost boyishly shy, were unforgettable. He has incredibly expressive blue eyes, and sometimes, when he would look at me, especially if I'd just done something for him, even something as small as touching his hair or covering him with a warm blanket... I could have sworn I'd died and gone to Aslan's Country. My poor heart wasn't made to handle that.

What made Angel smile? I _loved_ finding that out.

And then there were his wings: Sixteen feet of gloriously soft, snow-white, dazzling feathers that are as much a part of him as his unique personality. They remind me of my own white tail, in more ways than matching color. When I'm in my centaur form, my tail reflects my mood. Angel's wings do the same thing. Neither of us have to think about it: It's an unconscious representation of how we feel. Interpreting his emotions through his wings has been effortless because of it, and somehow Angel's wings make him even more adorable... at least, to me.

With or without wings, with or without _genuine_ gentlemanly qualities and good looks, there's still the matter of Angel's heart. When you tear away all the externals until all that's left is the core of the man who calls himself Angel, you find something of priceless worth that I would give _anything_ to obtain. The _only_ reason I haven't succumbed to temptation and thrown myself at his feet and shamelessly begged him for it is because I care about what he thinks and what he prefers, and I _don't know_ if I'm what he prefers.

Honestly, I'm a very different sort of girl. I'm fully aware of that. I'm not like the women here, and that's not just because of my centaurian heritage (though being a centaur-mutant girl certainly doesn't help me blend in). I don't know if I am the kind of woman Angel prefers to take a romantic interest in. And maybe I'm not. I don't know if he finds my personality, demeanor and views on life to be his ideal of perfection, or if I'm merely pleasant company and an intriguing diversion and a source of wise - or at least helpful - words, or if I'm just tolerable in polite society. Maybe I am no more to him than a very good friend.

I don't know. All I know is that I would do anything for the privilege of caring for Angel's heart. That's why I can't get over him.

No one pities the man on top of the world. They envy him. They secretly - and not-so-secretly - hate him. They think he's got it all and they wish THEY had it all. They do all they can to drag him off his pedestal and make him look and feel and behave just like everyone else, because it's bad for ego to have anyone above you, or better than you, or in any way superior.

But they don't know what it's like to _be_ him. No one pities Aslan for the same reasons, but only after you have to stand by and watch helplessly while someone you love with every fiber of your soul suffers will you understand how Aslan - how God himself - feels about billions of people.

_Now_ do you envy him? He may be the Lord of the universe, but as they say, it's lonely at the top. A majority of those in a higher status stratosphere who don't care about the people beneath them have learned to be coldhearted towards the masses, because the moment the masses sense a weakness, they'll attack like sharks.

It is the way of mankind, and it is a vicious cycle. Angel is trying to beat the system... and he's suffering as Aslan suffers because of it. Neither Angel nor Aslan HAS to remain generous in spirit towards these ruthlessly jealous folks. From a certain point of view, they'd be justified in turning their backs on the rest of us.

But Aslan loves, regardless... and so does Angel. In so many ways, Angel embodies Aslan to me. It's just another reason I love him so much.

Logan and I were teasing each other mercilessly one night when the subject of whether or not I had anyone special in my life inevitably came up - once we'd taken turns poking fun at our individual preferences for SOBE and beer. (Logan vastly prefers the latter.) Logan was just looking for something to rib me about when he asked, "Found a special guy yet?"

My head snapped around sharply at his words, and I gave him the benefit of seeing my blank expression before I turned back to the sitting room window. I really wasn't in the mood for a serious discussion about my love life.

"That's a complicated question with an even more complicated answer." I inhaled and let out my breath slowly, soundlessly, hoping to release my tension along with the oxygen. I hate lying, but the _last_ person I'd tell was Logan: He had a fierce rivalry going with Angel... and he was on very good terms with Angel's new girlfriend. Logan was one of the people who took it upon himself to police Angel's romantic activities, much to my private dismay. There'd be hell to pay if Logan knew the truth - but for me or for Angel, I didn't know. I certainly didn't want to find out.

No wonder I was tense. I'd been purposely avoiding Logan for some time because I knew this would eventually come up. If we hadn't met by chance in the sitting room that evening, we wouldn't have been having any conversation in the first place.

"Oh really?" His response was predictable and his sarcastically teasing tone was maddening. "Sounds like somebody's crushin to me..."

I was silent for a long time. This was exactly why I was avoiding him... and everything he was saying was hitting too close to home; the hurt was very fresh. But he didn't know that and he didn't know what he was doing to me. So I forgave him, on that count. But I wasn't going to let him get away with it either.

I slowly shook my head. "Can one be content with a star, when one has seen the sun?" I asked softly in a hoarse tone of voice. I shook my head again in answer to my own question, gazing out the window at the moonlit fountain in the courtyard. "No... I will never marry, Logan. I can't, now."

"I was always told not to even look at the sun; you'll go blind that way," he said philosophically. From his place on the sofa somewhere behind me, I heard him sipping his beer.

By then I had to bite my lip. Angel _was_ the sun to me. "Then I have been blinded, bedazzled, and ruined beyond repair, but the beauty of the sun was such that I could not tear my eyes away." I clasped my hands behind my back and let another sigh escape.

"And I'm guessin ya left this guy behind?"

I stood stock still, my tail not even moving. I had him.

"No... it's just that... it's not possible." I hesitated before admitting, "Wheels is just... too old for me."

Logan choked on his beer. "...Wha... You... and... Wheels... What the...!?"

Giddiness rose inside of me. My shoulders began to shake... not with sorrow and weeping, but _laughter_. I turned my body and faced Logan finally, my silvery eyes dancing with merriment. "I got you, Logan."

He was staring at me in shocked disbelief. "You were kiddin'? PLEASE tell me you were kiddin'!"

Once I got my laughter under control, I was more than happy to grant his wish. I wasn't romantically interested in the Professor; he was a father to me and I was content with that. But my act hadn't entirely been an act. I'd slyly used my real predicament to outfox Logan Howlett in a predictable line of questioning _without_ resorting to an outright fib, and that in itself was a priceless moment of glorious triumph.

It was the only fun I could have with an otherwise heartbreaking truth, but I took what I could get. On another night I even let Logan talk me into having a beer (he said I needed it more than he did, and he was right); the numbing warmth alcohol provided was a temporary relief... but it was the only bottled relief I allowed myself to indulge in. The next morning, I had a little headache - not much to speak of: One beer didn't have much of an effect on a thousand-pound centaur - and when I came out of it, all my sorrows were still there, waiting for me.

Beer wasn't the answer either.

As weeks became months, I found that there _were_ no answers. I was quite desperate to move on. After Kurt recovered from the incident with the Church of Humanity and took Tessa with him for a vacation in Germany, I was temporarily left without two of my pillars of strength and my delicate emotional state deteriorated. I found myself reverting to an old crutch: Danger.

I slipped out of the mansion at night and wandered the darkened streets of New York - as a centaur. I did it because it was dangerous. I'd done that before, back when my parents died; that was why I went to Calormene and tempted fate by pitting myself against the slavers. Operating on survival instincts alone and navigating the foreign streets sent a charge of adrenaline through my body that made me feel _alive_ and subdued my emotional agony.

I never did run into trouble, fortunately. I met an evil Sith lord once in a dark alley, but though we exchanged a few sharp words, nothing came of it. And on two other occasions, I ran into a girl named Marie, codename Rogue, who used to reside at the mansion. We went out for pizza and she showed me how to play air hockey. Those were two interestingly diverting evenings, and we spoke cryptically to each other about our respective troubles. It all turned out rather nicely.

Another time, I ran into a Talking Dog by the name of Charley. He was originally from Narnia. As a fellow follower of Aslan, he gained my partial trust (but not all of it, because there was something about him - some secret, or some facet of personality that I didn't understand, and it brought us into several severe arguments which were mostly my fault; I was vaguely afraid of him and thus went on the attack). When he gave me the news that a bomb was going to go off somewhere in downtown Los Angeles, I readily joined a crew of people - another lion by the name of Professor Theodore Archemedes, Charley, and my friend Ariate - to stop it. It was a mission full of danger, narrow escapes, time-twisting portholes, and more, but we did locate the bomb and diffuse it right before it detonated.

I actually felt like Bond James Bond. It was awesome.

For Christmas, I went back to Narnia to attend the traditional parties. I met with King Peter, whom I have known and advised fairly closely over the past year. This time, when we went out to the magical gardens to speak alone on a terrace overlooking the moonlit Eastern Ocean and the singing mermaids, he learned I could shift forms and become something more human, and I sensed a change in his attitude towards me. And then I rebuffed the attentions of my own king.

No, indeed... Angel was not someone I could simply replace. Not even with someone like King Peter. And I have no desire to be a queen of Narnia.

I also met a minotaur named Curtz in Narnia. He was nice enough, but my standards were set far too high, still. The same held true for a Detective Stabler, who stayed at the mansion for a short time to investigate a murder. He was wondering if there might be a serial killer who would go after Logan's fiance, Regan, and he wanted to ask both of them some questions. Detective Stabler was a very determined, work-driven man, and he'd stayed up for two days straight. I set up a room for him and made him sleep for a few hours before I'd let him see anyone.

I know I'm only a student at the mansion, but centaurs are used to taking charge of situations - especially situations requiring a healer. As Detective Stabler and I spent some time just relaxing - mostly because I was _forcing_ him to relax - he began to uncoil, emotionally, and he opened up a little to talk about the dark side of his work. He said he appreciated what I was doing for him to no end.

And there were more. Many more. Several men took at least a passing interest in me, but I scrupulously avoided letting any of those situations become romantically complicated by shutting down the possibility the moment I sensed anything beyond simple friendship blossoming. My heart was already lost to me, and I refused to give what was left of it to anyone else - or to use anyone else as a balm for a wounded soul.

But at the same time, a change began to take place: The crack Angel inadvertently caused in my heart widened, and I saw myself as less of a silhouette and more of myself. I didn't spend so much time living someone else's life, so to speak. I didn't have the emotional strength to. I _became_ myself... or was in the process of it. At a time when I needed a mask more than ever to hide my heart, I couldn't borrow a false persona anymore. The arrogant stony-hearted Violar Bond James Bond kissed was fast disappearing.

They say ignorance is bliss; that adage definitely applied to me then. I never knew that I had a shadow-self until Angel showed me who I really am. I wasn't able to protect myself with that other Violar for a mask, but at the same time, it was a remarkably freeing thing to be myself.

But it also meant I had no line of defense against hurts. I was simply vulnerable.

Ironically, the very thing I tried to do for Angel happened to me instead. _I'm_ the one who flew away free from the crumbling fortress in my soul. I wonder what effect it had on Angel...

I returned from Narnia with presents from Father Christmas and stuffed the mutant children's stockings full. And then I took my still-bulging sack to Angel's room and, after listening to make sure no one was inside, I slipped in and shut the door.

Once in a while, I still cleaned up Angel's room for him. He and his roommate Jay, codename Icarus, molt all over creation. The collage of red and white feathers accumulating on everything is fun for an outsider, but it annoyed Angel (and probably Jay too), so I took the liberty of playing housekeeper on the afternoons when I was free. I told myself that it was part of earning my keep at the mansion. But I had other motives, of course. I just wanted to do something for Angel.

This time, I had something much more interesting in mind than a simple clean-up. I didn't know how Angel would be handling Christmas this year - if he'd be able to visit his family or not - but I very much wanted to make his room more cheery. Using clear fishing line, I cleverly wound the pine branches I'd brought from Narnia into a garland and fixed it in four drooping swags to the wall over the head of his bed, using another New York marvel to hold them up: Thumbtacks. I wove the last few branches into a little wreath and hung it in the very center of my garland design, and I interspersed the greenery with gold-edged cream-colored ribbons, white-berried mistletoe, clusters of red holly berries and blueberries, and a few snowy Edelweiss blossoms.

I stood back to admire my handiwork and couldn't help feeling tremendously pleased. The lovely pine scent alone cheered the atmosphere of the room.

Beneath the garland-and-wreath ensemble, I stacked a small mountain of packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with light-colored hemp, with dried roses tucked into the top for the only decoration.

The collectible plate package, as I mentally dubbed it, contained something I'd been contemplating a long time. It started as something of a joke, but the idea grew on me until I sought out the help of Alisha, and a few other mutant students, and put together a magnetic halo and headband. The halo really hovered over the head of one who wore the headband, since the magnets repulsed each other. It also lit up, thanks to a few tiny LED lights and the power of Energizer batteries. If I were to be honest with myself, I couldn't see Angel having many occasions to wear it - or, indeed, to find it very useful at all; but there was a saying I'd heard which caused me to laugh: "There is nothing so cruel as giving a useful gift at Christmastime." Paraphrased, that's how the saying went. I thought it amusing, but also true, and decided to give Angel the halo anyway for what it represented. At least, to me.

The oblong package had taken a special commission placed two months in advance: It was an exquisite silver sword, identical to my father's, except it had a large sapphire embedded in the hilt and "ANGEL" engraved in flowing calligraphy down the blade. The elaborate leather sheath was beautifully hand-crafted by the Dwarfs, with embroidered silver and white wings running down the length of it and, mostly hidden in the complicated design, letters that spelled out "WARREN KENNETH WORTHINGTON III." I smiled a little and lowered my head, knowing that if High King Peter found out I'd ordered such a fine blade for an off-world friend, he'd wonder why I never got _him_ one.

It was indeed a sword to make a king jealous.

There was, of course, a bottle of Dwarven ale and a box of honey cakes, and a little scroll tied with rope and roses, which contained a few stories from Narnia, written by my own hand in ink with... one of Angel's feathers. The tales were about the time of the White Witch, and it chronicled the brave deeds of certain creatures during that era of oppression. I had gathered quite a treasury in my travels and I was eager to share it with Angel.

My final present, a tiny little cube, housed two things I'd made myself. There was a small silver pin which had taken me forever to finish, but it had turned out relatively well: Silver and gold wire I'd wrapped into the shape of a three-dimensional two-tone hollow angel. His impressive glittering wings were fully extended, and he was _not_ wearing one of those robe-dresses, but seemed to be clad in normal attire - jeans and a T-shirt, if the pin were not too abstract to tell. As time had gone on, I'd been astonished by the sheer number of angels that were female, or cherubic babies with ridiculously tiny wings, in this world. When I'd searched department stores on shopping trips with Alisha, I hadn't found a single one I liked enough to give Angel, even among the smaller selection of male angels. So I made my own.

In the same box, I surrounded my pin with a curious black and white hair braid. It was made from locks of my own hair - my wavy black hair and my thicker white horsehair. The contrast in color (shiny black and flat white) and texture (smooth black and coarse white) was rather stunning, in my opinion. I left the braid straight so Angel could do whatever he liked with it - he could tie it in a circlet, or leave it straight, or whatever else he might wish. Maybe he could use it as a bookmark. He liked literature well enough, after all.

Of the collection, that was my most personal gift. My parents had made similar horsehair bracelets for each other. In my satchel, I kept the rose they'd once pricked their fingers upon on the night Eolas blurted out an impulsive proposal to my mother. And, hidden in my hair, was one of Angel's feathers - which I carried with me because it'd become a thing of sentimental value.

That Christmas night, though, things were changing. A mantle of emotional pain crept over me. I stood back to briefly admire my handiwork, then stole out the door and paused for awhile there in the shadows. With a lump strangling my throat, I pressed a kiss to the smooth wood, clenching my jaw against tears.

"Goodbye," I whispered to my hopeless dreams.

When I returned to my room, I shut the door against the world and paused for a moment to look around and take in the quiet, plain interior. It was a nice room - neither bare nor extravagant - but that night it struck me as very, very lonely. Then I reached into my hair and carefully unwound Angel's feather, placing it lovingly in my satchel among the other objects of sentimental value I kept with me - all reminders of loss and heartache.

I had to get over Angel. I didn't know how to, but I _had_ to. _It's going to take more than a miracle,_ I thought as I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep. Because I knew that, in my heart, every other man would be cast in the shadow of an Angel.

My determination to move past that debilitating condition brought on by a broken heart extended past wanting to recover from unrequited love. I felt a need to contribute to this society. Alisha had taken care of me thus far and acted as if money were no issue. In return, I assisted her with her homework, but it wasn't adequate payback. Alisha was also an excellent seamstress and she devoted several of her "school projects" to making dresses for me. She said she had to practice anyways, but I dimly suspected she didn't need _that_ much practice; and though it was generous above and beyond the call of duty on her part, it was embarrassing to me beyond words. I don't accept charity well.

So, in January, I went out and applied for jobs. In the end, Alisha helped me land a position as a customer service representative at a store called Bloomingdale's. Alisha knew the manager, a woman named Rachel who had two children of her own, and Rachel was also sympathetic to mutants. I was glad she hired me, and it was nice to have a steady nine-to-five job, same as a great portion of this population. It made me feel more a part of New York. It made me feel useful.

Sometimes it's really nice to be ordinary.

During the month of January, I settled into my new routine. I worked at Bloomingdale's, assisting a delightful - and sometimes not-so-delightful - variety of New York shoppers. My own fashion standards went up from working in a department store. I still loved wearing skirts more than pants or slacks, and one of my favorite style and color combinations consisted of a white blouse with flowing sleeves and a full burgundy skirt with a wide black belt at the waist. I always wore black high-heeled leather boots to finish my outfits. It was stylish and somewhat reminiscent of gypsy or Spanish fashion, but more refined and not quite so flamboyant. It was the perfect reflection of my personality: Wildfire, yet dignified.

When my shift ended I would invariably visit Barnes and Noble's and poke around until I found a good book. Then I would stop at Starbuck's for a French Vanilla Creme latte and perhaps a cinnamon roll or a chocolate-almond biscotti. I rested in the cozy coffee-scented shop for about an hour, immersed in my new book. Other times I would simply lean back in the chair and let my mind wander, listening to the soft jazz and letting formless thoughts take shape and dissipate as they pleased.

I had definitely grown more thoughtful and introspective. I felt as if I'd matured. I'd changed so much in only five months. As January drew to a close, I felt as if I could make peace with everything - even broken dreams. Perhaps I could live this life and exist in this routine indefinitely.

But life seldom stays the same, and I had no idea that the drastic changes in my life would lead me to a magic street corner... or that the cracks in my heart had opened enough to admit a villainous young man they called Pyro.


End file.
